Into the Fire
by EsaEnai
Summary: Regeneration is best faced in a stable environment. An impossible world filled with inscrutable elves, ornery princes and powerful magic was not the Tenth's Doctor's top choice, but he's nothing if not adaptable. LotR/Doctor Who Xover. 10/Rose
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: You can all blame my chronic insomnia for this one. Lack of sleep and copious amounts of stress led to me being awake at midnight with nothing to do except re-watch "The Fellowship of the Ring" (for about the thousandth time) and begin an episode of Doctor Who- specifically, "The Christmas Invasion." Just after the exploding Christmas tree (Spoilers!) I was struck with inspiration.**

**Now, I've been struck with 3am-inspiration before, and usually the result is completely stupid by morning. This is the only one I actually think I can pull off. And yes, it's slightly weird. But c'mon, guys. We're fans of shows that talk about magical rings and time-traveling police boxes. So what's too weird?**

**So remember: if it's weird and stupid… blame insomnia.**

**Chapter one draws heavily on "Children in Need: 2005", and started out as a one-shot of Nine's regeneration in Rose's POV. Now, it will serve as a lovely prologue. **

**Disclaimer: I own not Doctor Who or The Lord of the Rings, nor any dialogue from either, or any recognizable characters. I'm merely borrowing them for a bit of playtime.**

…

Gold.

It was all so _gold._

For this was the only word appropriate to describe it. It would be bright, had it not possessed such an innate, powerful darkness. It would be beautiful, had it not signified such a grotesque, such an _ugly _change.

_Rose Tyler. I was going to take you to so many places._

Rose clung to the side of the TARDIS, both shivering. Why the TARDIS was shivering, she could not say. Anticipation? Excitement? Or did they share the same source: pure, unadulterated terror?

Fiery it was, as it poured from every orifice of the Doctor's body. It shot into the air with a roar, licking hungrily at every surface it could touch and swirling around the Doctor's body. Was it still his body? Was anything left inside the towering inferno of gold that consumed the Doctor's form?

_Every cell in my body is dying._

He was gone. The Doctor- HER Doctor was gone. He had told her he would be. How nonchalant he had sounded, with the same smile splitting his face, the same look of casual happiness appearing in his eyes between the heart-wrenching spasms that wracked his form. He had not grieved, so she had done it for him. He had not worried, so she had done it for him.

She had been there for him, as she always had. Would she still have to be there for him now? What would she do, go back to her mum and the flat? To Mickey? What would become of her? What would become of _him?_

_Time Lords have this little trick; sort of a way of cheating death. Except…_

So many thoughts rushed through her head while the gold bathed the TARDIS and her Doctor. Her fingers tightened; her jaw clenched. What would happen? What?

…_it means I'm going to change._

As Rose watched, the gold began to modify. It started at the collar of his shirt, spinning tighter and tighter until it solidified into… into a _neck._

Was it possible?

For it seemed it was, as the neck was followed by the sharp slope of a jaw, and the curve of an Adam's apple. Two bumps quickly became ears, and the gentle shading of cheekbones appearing shortly after.

_You're not gonna see me again. Not with this daft old face. _

But it was wrong. _Wrong._ Even as she shielded her eyes from the harshness of the gold, she could tell. The face was too thin, the jaw too pronounced. The chest was skinnier; the entire frame, in fact. Longer fingers attached to longer hands poked from the sleeves of the jacket, manifesting brightly through the golden ribbons. And as sideburns sprouted into a pompadour of brown hair, Rose felt the bottom of her stomach drop.

_And I won't be seeing you again._

The gold stopped with a jolt, but Rose and the TARDIS continued to shudder as the man in the Doctor's clothes focused on her face. Brown eyes bored into her soul, as she gazed upon them for the first time. His face was blank; a newborn baby's face. He looked just as curious as she felt.

And then he opened his mouth to speak.

"Hullo," he said quietly. "I ca-"

A strange expression came over his face, words dying in his throat as he ran his tongue around his mouth.

"New teeth," she heard him murmur. "That's weird."

And then his eyes snapped to the console, and he quirked an eyebrow. "Now, where was I?"

He refocused on her, eyes shining brightly. "Oh, that's right!" The man- this new, strange man- almost smiled.

_You were fantastic, Rose. And you know what? So was I._

"Barcelona."

He lunged at the console, actions quick and jerky- almost manic. A stream of words fell from his mouth, but Rose wasn't listening. She was watching.

She had never seen the hand that twisted the dial on the console. She had never before heard the voice coming out of the man's mouth- Estuary English accent, like hers. She had never seen those ears, those eyes, that nose.

Who was he? Why was he familiar?

"On our way to Barcelona!" The Man smiled at her- a full smile, not the smirk she had gotten earlier. This was full of happiness, and pure joy. His eyes sparked, and she could see a faint bit of gold fading away in his pupils.

"Now then," he said. "What do I look like?" Before she could answer (and anyway, what could she say?) he threw up a hand. "No! No, no, no-no-no-no!" he crowed. "Don't tell me."

And then, strangely enough, The Man began to examine himself. "Two legs, two arms, two hands…" he murmured, an unexplainable air of delight in this fact. A thumb and forefinger gripped his right wrist, and The Man rotated it in a slow circle. "Slight weakness in the dorsal tubercle…"

"HAIR!" came a cry, and two long hands pawed through the auburn locks with vigor. "I'm not bald! Ooh, BIG hair! And SIDEBURNS!" The Man was practically giggling. "I've got SIDEBURNS! And _really _bad skin…"He drummed on his stomach a few times. "Little bit thinner. That's weird. Give me time, I'll get used to it."

A sudden look of apprehension came to his face, and he froze. Rose was torn between asking him what was wrong, and running away while he was distracted by-

"I have got a mole," he said quietly. The maniacal smile split his face again, as he started shuffling his shoulders this way and that. "I can feel it. Between my shoulder-blades is a _mole._" He winked. "It's alright. Love the mole."

The Man turned to her expectantly, spreading his arms. "Go on then, tell me. What do you think?" He grinned.

Rose could only answer with the words that had been cycling in her head over and over again. "Who are you?"

"I'm the Doctor," he replied without hesitation.

Rose shook her head once, twice. "No," she said softly. "Where is he?" This Man couldn't, COULDN'T be her Doctor. "What have you done to him?" she demanded, voice getting louder with each word.

The Man looked baffled. His mouth worked silently for a moment before he pointed weakly behind him. "I… changed. Right in front of you."

Her Doctor had just died, vanished in a spurt of liquid gold, and this… this _person _had taken his place. How dare he insist he was the Doctor? How dare he try to fill the shoes of the greatest man ever to twist the fabric of space and time?

"Something sort of… exploded, and you…" Rose stuttered over her words, shaking. "You replaced him like a… a teleporter, or a… transfer, or a body-swap, or something."

She strode forward, placing a hand on The Man's chest and pushing him away from her. Solid muscle and bone resisted her touch, guaranteeing that she was stuck in the TARDIS with a stranger. A stranger in the Doctor's clothes. "You're NOT fooling me."

"I've seen all sorts of things," she continued. "Nanogene… gelf… Slitheen…" Rose's blood ran cold. "Oh my god, are you Slitheen?"

The Man stared at her and answered slowly, as though to an invalid. "I am not a Slitheen."

"Send him back," Rose tried to say, but it came out a whisper. She tried again, clenching her fists. "I'm warning you; send the Doctor back RIGHT NOW!" Her voice rose impressively on the last two words.

The Man looked desperate, and he placed two pleading hands on his chest. "Rose, it's _me_! Honestly, i-it's me!" When she didn't look convinced, he dropped his hands pathetically, pleading to her with his eyes.

"I was dying," he whispered, almost to himself, but when he spoke again it was louder. "To save my life, I changed my body. Every single cell. But…" he gave her a half-smile. "Still me."

Rose was trying hard to keep a straight face, but she could feel desperate tears pricking her eyes. It couldn't be true. He couldn't be the Doctor. Somehow this Man had replaced him, and the REAL Doctor was going to pop out from behind a corner, chuckling over having fooled her.

"But you can't be." It came out a whimper.

The Man half-smiled again, the gesture full of infinite sadness; worryingly-familiar sadness. "Then how could I remember this?" He began to take slow, smooth steps towards her, and she knew she should run.

_The Doctor will pop out of hiding any minute,_ Rose thought.

"The very first word I ever said to you." The Man was only inches from her face. His brown eyes were boring into her.

_Any minute, now._

"In that cellar, surrounded by shop dummies. Ooh…" The Man pursed his lips, eyes wistful. "...such a long time ago."

_Now. It has to be NOW._

"I took your hands," The Man said, doing so as he spoke. She swallowed hard; his hands were cold, and he grasped hers firmly.

_NOW._

"I whispered one word," The Man said in a hushed tone. "Just one word."

_Doctor, where are you?_

The Man raised his eyebrows, and whispered one word: "_Run._"

The look of sadness. The quiet amusement. The way the TARDIS was purring comfortably under her feet. The way his eyes crinkled at the corners.

The Doctor wasn't going to pop out from behind a corner.

He was standing directly in front of her.

"Doctor…"

The Man- The _Doctor- _winked, and broke into the first true smile she had seen. "Hullo."

He was alive. He was _here_…

…And then with a sudden twitch, he was gone, flitting about the console with a sort of manic energy.

"And we never stopped, did we?" he babbled, tapping buttons and throwing switches with no real care. "Running, running, running! All across the universe! And one time, we had to hop! Remember that?" The Ma- _Doctor_ began to hop on one foot, hair flopping in his deliriously grinning face. "Remember hopping for our lives? Hop, hop, hop? Yeah? All the hopping Remember hopping for your life?" He switched feet. "Yeah? Hop?"

The hopping stopped with a thud, as the Doctor's face dropped into a blank slate. He stared at his companion intensely, eyes wide. Rose thought she still saw a glimmer of gold in his eyes.

There was something wrong with this new Doctor. "Can you change back?" she asked, trying to keep the hope out of her voice.

His face didn't change. Not even a flicker of emotion. "Do you want me to?"

"Yes."

"Oh."

There was a moment of silence.

"Well, can you?"

"No." The Doctor's eyes flicked to the floor for a split second, but soon refocused on her face. "Do you want to leave?"

Rose was stunned. "Do you want me to leave?"

"No." Only a slight rising of the eyebrows signified any sort of emotion in the tall man. "But it's your choice, if you want to go home."

Rose couldn't bring herself to speak. He would just… leave her? Let her go? After… after everything?

The Doctor seemed to take her silence as an assent, and moved to the console. His fingers flew over keys while he read off stats in a monotone. "London. Powell Estate. Oh… Let's make it December 24." He looked at her. "Call it a Christmas present."

The TARDIS shuddered and Rose could feel it shifting beneath her feet, twisting down a new eddy of the time stream. "I'm going home?"

"If you want to. It's all there," the Doctor told her blandly. "Your mum. The house. Fish and chips, bangers and mash… No!" he exclaimed suddenly, looking contemplatively at the ceiling. "Christmas… turkey. Although, having met your mother…" He wrinkled his nose. "Nut-loaf would be more appropriate."

Rose couldn't help smiling, and the Doctor pounced on it. His face finally relaxed from its expressionless mask, and he grinned at her. "Was that a smile?"

"No, it wasn't."

"That was a smile."

"No, it wasn't."

"You _smiled_."

"No, I didn't."

The Doctor grimaced playfully at her, and she felt a small fraction of herself relax. "Oh, come on," he chided. "I just changed, it's not like I-"

Suddenly, the Doctor shuddered, body arching and spasming violently. The TARDIS shook, as if in sympathy, and Rose jumped slightly. After a moment it was over, and the Doctor stared at her as if it had never happened. "What?" she asked.

The Doctor tried again. "I said, I didn't-" Another tremor, more powerful than the one before it, wracked the Doctor's body. He gurgled and choked sickeningly. The TARDIS thundered, ground shaking.

The Doctor raised his eyes to Rose, eyes terrified. "Oh, no."

"Are you alright?" she asked, wincing at every tremor.

"The change is going a bit wrong, it's-" he dissolved into sputtering again, bending at the waist. Rose was beside him before she realized she had moved. He gazed at her desperately, opening his mouth and sighing. A strand of golden smoke curled from his throat, dissolving into the air.

"What is that?' she gasped. He merely shook his head, trembling.

"Maybe we should go back," she said quickly. "We could call Captain Jack-"

"Oh, he's busy!" The Doctor interrupted, voice oddly manic. He straightened so quickly that Rose nearly fell over and a weird light shone behind his features. "He's got plenty to do, rebuilding the Earth!"

His head snapped to the console, eyes wild. "This is going to take years," he muttered, and began frantically flipping switches and throwing levers. The TARDIS shook violently and began picking up speed.

"What are you doing?" Rose cried. The Doctor took no notice of her, running about the cabin and pushing every button he could reach.

"Speed! SPEED!" he cried feverishly. "That's it! Faster! Faster, old girl! Faster!"

"STOP IT!" Rose shrieked, holding desperately to the side of the control panel as the TARDIS began to shake up and down.

The Doctor snapped his head towards her, and she was terrified by the demonic gleam in his eyes. "Oh, come on! Let's have some fun! Let's have some FUN! Let's RIP right through that vortex!"

He gasped, and his face became a mirror to her terror. "Rose. Rose, it's all gone wrong. The transformation…" He gasped again. "I can't stop myself."

"What's going to happen?" she yelled to him as an alarm bell began to ring.

"We're going to do it."

"What, rip through the void?"

"Y-yes."

"We can't! Where will we go?"

"I don't know. Unless I can-"

The Doctor howled arching his back and gripping the console, white-knuckled. His face reverted to the mad smile, and he laughed. "Faster! Faster! What's wrong with this engine? FASTER!"

"YOU'LL KILL US!" Rose shrieked, sinking to her knees as the TARDIS twisted and bucked under her.

"QUITE RIGHT!" he roared back. He slammed a hand on the console, and the TARDIS shrieked from the strain.

As the Doctor continued to rant and rave, pushing the TARDIS to its outer limits, Rose squeezed her eyes shut. She had no clue what was going to happen, or where they would go. Usually this didn't bother her- she had the Doctor's presence to reassure her. Now, she had nothing.

Because no matter what this man said, no matter what he did, he wasn't her Doctor.

He wasn't her Doctor at all.


	2. Chapter 2

**Thank you to everyone who read and reviewed. This is where it starts to get interesting.**

**Thanks to kstar26 for Following, and I encourage everyone reading to do the same. And review, please! Reviews are what keep me going.**

**Disclaimer: I don't own anything except a laptop, this cup of espresso, and a Blu-Ray copy of "The Fellowship of the Ring." I'm simply borrowing the characters for a play-date.**

…

Aragorn was anxious.

After so many years in the wild (and in Rivendell, where nature was akin to life) he had learned to read it. Read the scratches on the trees, the broken sticks on the ground, the feeling of the air itself.

The air was disturbed. A heaviness, a musky undertone pervaded the earth. The wind whimpered; the clouds roiled with no currents pushing them. It was not anything he could describe; merely, a feeling.

A feeling of _wrongness_. That much was certain. The question was… what was wrong? The Nazgul? They had a different feeling, that akin to decay and death. Their presence was disturbing, yes, but had a pure evil to it. This feeling wasn't _evil_. It was simply _wrong_.

So, on he walked, worrying the hilt of his sword in anticipation for an encounter he wasn't sure was coming. His charges followed behind him, small legs making small strides. They were whispering amongst themselves, though loudly enough that he could hear them.

"How can we be sure this Strider fellow is a friend of Gandalf?" asked the young one called Merry.

"We have no choice but to trust him." That would be Frodo. A remarkable Halfling, he was.

"But where is he leadin' us?" Sam sounded worried, and Aragorn chose to respond to him.

"To Rivendell, Master Gamgee. To the House of Elrond."

_To the House of Arwen._ That was a thought he would never voice.

"Did you hear that?" Sam's voice was excited. "Rivendell! We're going to see the elves!"

And it could not come soon enough. The _wrongness_ was growing, making the hair on his arms raise. The House of Elrond would be safe, for the Elvin lord would be able to help.

Until then, there was nothing to do but walk.

And worry.

…

New teeth. New teeth were weird.

Of course, new arms, legs, hands, what-have-you were weird too. But blimey, were new teeth _weird. _They kept taking up room in his mouth, crowding his tongue.

He had gotten new teeth ten times over, now. Why were these bothering him? Was it that they were longer? They must be. The rest of him was. He felt like a string bean. Could one feel like a vegetable, though? Or a fruit? He'd felt like a pumpkin once. Wasn't that a gourd?

"Doctor?"

New things were fun. The TARDIS wasn't new. The TARDIS was fun. Not logical, but true. As everything was with him. The TARDIS had tossed him to another time. Another world. Another universe. Which one?

"Doctor, please."

The inside was smoking. And dark. So dark. No light. Wasn't that bad? He had a feeling it was. An itch in the back of his head. His new head…

"Doctor, talk to me. Stop staring around the TARDIS, you're… freaking me out."

Dark was bad. Bad things lived in the dark. Bump-in-the-night things. He needed light. Light was outside. Outside.

"Doctor, where are you going?"

There. Light was seeping in from outside, through a crack in the door. And wind that smelled like trees. Outside. It was bright. Snow. Rocks. Not Earth; not the right smell.

"Doctor! DOCTOR!"

Why had he landed here? He shouldn't have. He needed to go faster. "Stand still and die." He had heard someone say that about sharks. It applied.

"DOCTOR! STOP RUNNING! WHERE ARE YOU GOING?"

Yes, sharks had it right. He needed to run. Always running. Run.

_Run._

…

Aragorn paused again, sniffing the air. Nothing so unusual; pine, dirt, animal, and the crispness that snow brought. There was no scent of anything dangerous ahead, though they were standing downwind.

So why was the _wrongness_ growing?

Upon noticing there were no crunching sounds of marching Hobbit feet following him, he turned to his charges. They had stopped complacently in the center of the road, murmuring cheerfully to each other. Sam had Bill the pony's bridle in his hand, gathering a few broken sticks into a pile while Frodo sifted through the bag of food he had smuggled from Bree. Merry and Pippin were in the middle of a balancing act, somehow carrying two frying pans, three spatulas, and a ladle between them.

"Gentlemen," Aragorn chastised, trying to hide his irritation. "We do not stop until nightfall."

"What about breakfast?" Pippin asked leaning on Bill the pony for support.

Aragorn looked at him blankly. "You've already had it." An understatement, actually; the Hobbits had insisted on eating at the Prancing Pony before they left, and had managed to put away twenty eggs, sixteen pieces of toast, eight fried tomatoes and a heaping stack of sausages before even Merry had called it quits.

"We've had one, yes," Pippin said casually. "But what about second-breakfast?"

Aragon merely stared at them before striding away. He had heard rumors about the dietary powers of a Hobbit, but this was ridiculous.

"Don't think he knows about second-breakfast, Pip," he heard Merry say in a disappointed voice.

"But what about elevenses?" Pippin whined desperately. "Luncheon? Afternoon tea? Dinner? Supper? He knows about them, doesn't he?"

There was a pause. "I wouldn't bet on it, Pip."

Aragorn felt a twinge of guilt. Had he been accustomed to eating seven meals a day, he'd be craning for a break as well. The ranger fished a few apples out of his pockets and tossed them behind him. No harm in the Halflings having a snack while they walked.

To his surprise he heard the apples hit the ground, seeing them roll back to him after a moment. He scooped them up, cleaning one on his shirt as he trudged back up the hill to his charges. "What's wrong?" he called out, a hint of a laugh in his voice. "Not hungry?"

The Hobbits soon became visible from behind a bush, and all laughter died instantly. They were not alone.

A tall man wearing baggy clothing was standing in front of them, panting heavily as though he had just run a great distance. Long brown hair stood straight up on his head, body weaving slightly from side to side. The Hobbits were terrified; Pippin and Merry clung to each other, and Sam stepped slightly in front of a stunned Frodo.

Aragorn had his sword pulled halfway from his scabbard when the man spun around to face him. His face was a mixture of fear, manic energy, and hysterical cheerfulness, and he aimed a big smile at Aragorn.

"Hullo!" The Man exclaimed happily, paying no attention to the sword. "Who are you?"

Aragorn froze, hand tightening around the hilt. "Strider."

"Strider," The Man said, rolling the word around in his mouth. "Huh. Strrrriiiiiiiider. Not the best name, is it? A bit tinny-sounding, if I say so myself. Oh!" The Man exclaimed, making the Hobbits jumps slightly. "I almost forgot!"

The Man's eyes lit up- _was that gold?_- and he aimed a big wink at Aragorn's stunned face. "Merry Christmas, Strider."

And with that, The Man collapsed bonelessly into the snow.

…

"Faster, Rose, faster!" she whispered to herself, trying desperately not to slip on the snow under her feet. She had already taken a nasty fall towards the bottom of the hill, her trainer failing to get traction on a rock that had bashed her black and blue on the way down. Her right elbow hurt fiercely, pulse throbbing in it like a metronome.

She wasn't as worried about that as she was about the Doctor. He had looked so odd before he sprinted off; twitchy and irritated. And now, thanks to her three-year-old shoes, she had lost him. All she had to follow was a trail of footprints from where he had run.

There were no other footprints, no signs of any kind that someone else lived here. What if the TARDIS had brought them to an uninhabited planet? What would she do if she couldn't find him? The thought made her run even faster, arms flailing wildly as she tried to keep her balance.

And then, the best and worst noise she could have heard: voices.

"What was THAT?"

"What is he on about, 'Merry Christmas'?"

"No one touch him. He could only be pretending."

Rose put on a sudden burst of speed, and finally arrived at the top of the mountain. There was the oddest arrangement of people she had ever seen. A group of four children, three light-haired and one dark. A tall, bearded man holding a sword.

And her Doctor, face-down in the snow. Not moving.

Rose would have liked to say she handled the situation well, but she didn't know if flinging herself into a crouch over the Doctor's body while screaming at them to back up counted as good public relations. Quite frankly she didn't care. She didn't care that her hair had fallen from its ponytail, or that the wet feeling on her elbow was likely to be blood. She didn't even care to wonder why four children were on the top of a mountain.

All she cared about was her Doctor, and the fact that he looked horribly, horribly dead.

xXx

"I SAID GET AWAY FROM HIM!" the woman shrieked, presumably close to a mental breakdown. Her blonde hair fell into her scowling face, covering her eyes. "What have you done to him?"

The Hobbits were stunned, quieter than Aragorn had ever seen them. But he wasn't focused on that. He was barely focused on the screaming woman in front of him.

He was focused on The Man on the ground. Energy unlike anything Aragon had ever felt was pouring off of him in waves, creating a sense of heaviness, of tragic power.

Of _wrongness._

"Get behind me," he whispered to the Hobbits, who gladly obliged. Turning to the woman (who was still shielding The Man from them), Aragorn put on his sternest expression. "Who are you?"

"I could ask you the same question, you… you sword-swinging… lunatic!" the woman spat. "Answer me! What have you done?"

"We haven't done anythin'!" Sam piped up from behind him. "It was him who done it!" Frodo whispered for him to be quiet, but the woman had already begun staring at the group of Halflings, a surprised look on her face.

"You're not children…?" she whispered, an equal mixture of question and statement.

"No, miss," Merry put in. "We're Hobbits."

"Hobbits," the woman repeated blankly.

"Yes, miss," Merry replied, smiling.

Aragorn gave up on trying to keep the Hobbits quiet; their talk seemed to be calming the woman down, anyhow. "I am their guide," he told her softly, as one would talk to a skittish animal. "We are traveling to meet a friend."

"In Rivendell," Pippin added, and Aragorn could have slapped him. Did the Hobbits know nothing of secrecy?

"Yes," he said reluctantly. "In Rivendell."

The woman was silent for a moment, mulling this over. Then: "What's Rivendell?"

The five of them looked at her blankly. "The home of Lord Elrond," Aragorn said. Then, when this didn't seem to help her, "The home of the elves."

The woman looked like she was either about to cry or laugh- or perhaps both. "Elves?" she asked quietly. She let out a low chuckle, but it had no humor in it. "We _are_ a long way from home."

"We?" asked Frodo, speaking for the first time.

"The… My friend and I." The woman clarified. She was silent for a moment, before starting to roll The Man onto his back. "What happened, exactly?"

"He ran up, asked Strider his name, wished us a Merry Christmas, and then he…" Pippin trailed off for a moment. "…fell."

The woman smiled slightly. "Sounds like him." She placed two fingers to The Man's throat, still for a moment before nodding slightly. "His pulse is fine… for him, anyway. There's nothing to do but wait for him to wake up."

She stood, clutching her elbow- which they could see was covered in blood. "I know it's an intrusion and all, but could you bring us with you to Riv-and-dell? We've nowhere to go, and…" She gave her companion a desperate look. "There might be someone there who can help us."

Aragorn was shaking his head before she finished speaking. "We cannot have anything slow us down. I am sorry."

She was about to cry. "Please. I'm not above begging. I need your help." Seeing he was still hesitant, she barreled on. "My friend is powerful, VERY powerful. When he wakes up-"

"Is he a wizard?" Sam interrupted in awe. The rest of the Hobbits shifted to get a better look.

The woman looked at them in surprise. "Oh, uh… Yes. A sort of a wizard."

Aragorn was shocked, and immediately suspicious. Wizards were old, and wise. This man had acted more insane, and didn't look more than five-and-forty years. Then again, it would explain the _wrongness_ if this man had magic in him. "What sort?"

"Take us to Riv-and-dell-"

"Rivendell," he corrected impatiently.

"-and you'll find out." The woman stared at him defiantly, lips pressed into a hard line. She was not going to be persuaded. Any anyway, should not Elrond meet this "sort-of" wizard for himself? If he was dangerous, it would be best to find that out in a place surrounded by powerful elves.

"Alright," he heard himself saying. "You may accompany us. But do not slow us down."

The woman fairly collapsed in relief. "Thank you, I… Thank you."

"Though we will have to tie your friend onto Bill if he is to accompany us." Aragorn added, and she nodded. Sam looked ready to protest on the animal's behalf, but Aragorn raised a hand. "Bill is strong, but we will need to lighten our load in order to help him shoulder the burden."

"We could help with that!" Merry piped up, grinning from ear to ear.

"What do you mean?" the woman asked.

Pippin smiled at her. "You're just in time for second breakfast!"


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: SO. MANY. STORY. ALERTS. I'm very pleased you're all enjoying this story! Since so many of you want to see this continued, how about some feedback? My old laptop went and kicked the bucket and some nice reviews would help me in my grieving. Enjoy!**

…

Bill the Pony was upset. Sam could tell; the poor animal was breathing heavily and rapidly, sides heaving and all four knees buckling. His mane swung through the air as he shook out the muscles of his neck. A wet muzzle nudged Sam in his round stomach.

Bill lowered his brown eyes to stare at Sam forlornly. _I'd like this Big Folk off of my back, please, _he seemed to say.

Sam ran a hand over the horse's neck. "Alright, Bill," he said bracingly to the shaking pony. "Strider and Miss Rose will get him offa ya. Then you can have a nice long rest." Sam shot a glare of undisguised irritation at the man causing the poor animal such distress.

The man had been tied expertly by Strider to Bill, ropes wrapping around the pony's stomach and knotted tightly around his unconscious passenger. This Big Folk, however, was truly living up to his name. His long arms had to be placed in an "X" over his chest to keep them from hanging to the ground, but there was nothing to be done about his legs or head.

The man's shoes were caked in dust and mud from bouncing along the ground, and his head (having been leaned against Bill's bobbing neck) kept slipping to either side and made the man's neck bend at an awkward angle. Miss Rose had taken to walking next to the pony and holding her companion's head in place.

Thankfully and finally, they had reached their stopping point for the night: a hill that Strider had called "Weathertop", crowned with a collapsed bowl of a castle. Upon informing them that they were able to take a break, Strider and Rose had immediately set to the task of removing the man from his carrier. Sam had considered it his duty to keep the poor beast calm.

Miss Rose blew a strand of hair out of her eyes, throwing the last of the ropes from the man's body. Aragorn caught it and coiled it up quickly. The man on the pony seemed to let out a sigh and his head tilted to the left. Then, suddenly, he started to slip the same way. Rose grabbed desperately at his coat, but it didn't stop him from falling on his back to the ground with a sickening _thud_.

Rose let out an inhuman squeal, rushing in front of the startled pony and to the prone man on the floor of the cave. She began checking his heartbeat and the back of his head, all whilst whispering to him softly.

Bill tossed his head in panic, whinnying loudly, and Sam desperately attempted to keep the pony from squashing anyone. Merry and Pippin ran towards the commotion. "Let us help!" Merry called, and for once in the trip, Sam was very glad to have the two troublemakers along.

Then the two boys rushed past him to help Rose, and Sam remembered why he occasionally fantasized about Farmer Maggot stuffing them both into potato sacks. Still clutching the bridle in his fingers, Sam drew himself up and prepared to lecture the two of them about helping _complete strangers _rather than the Hobbit that had known them since-

"Gentlemen." Strider's voice cut through the hubbub like a hot knife through butter. The party turned to find him standing towards the entrance to the structure. His eyes were fixed on Rose. "Is your companion alright?" Rose nodded. "Then I suggest you all sleep. The road is long yet, and you need your wits about you for the final push to Rivendell. I will be out scouting for food, and watching for the wraiths. If in danger, call, and I will be here."

He pulled four small sheaths from a pack on his back, handing one to each Hobbit. "These are for you, though I hope you don't have to use them." He glanced at Rose, who looked at him expectantly. After a short inner debate, he pulled the bow and quiver from his back and tossed them to her. "Be careful."

Without another word, the ranger melted into the shadows. Rose looked at her new weapons, incredulous and nervous.

The group remained silent for another moment, and then Frodo strode forward and clapped Sam on the shoulder. "C'mon, Sam," he said kindly. "We need to sleep. It's been a long day."

Sam nodded, leading the nickering pony to a small tree. "I'll tie up Bill, Mister Frodo. He's tired."

Frodo was too tired to remind Sam not to call him 'Mister'. He simply dropped to the floor and put his arms over his eyes.

"We all are, Sam. We all are."

…

"Sam?"

"…"

"Sam."

"Hnerg."

"Sam, are you awake?"

"Pippin… what are y'doin?"

"I'm hungry."

"Go to sleep."

"Pip? That you?"

"Merry? I'm hungry."

"Me too."

"Go to SLEEP, the both of you. You'll wake Mister Frodo and Miss Rose."

"Aw, c'mon Sam. There's still some sausages left."

"…"

"And t'matos too."

"Get the pan."

…

Thirty minutes later five fat sausages were frying in the griddle, next to a sliced tomato. Merry poked them with a stick, eyeing the sleeping form of the Doctor. "Who do y'suppose he is?"

"Who?" Pippin asked, eyes fixed on the food.

Merry rolled his eyes. "Frodo. _The wizard, _Pip. Who else?"

Pippin looked over where the two humans were lying. Rose had taken the Doctor's coat and spread it over him like a blanket, her own thin jacket tucked under his head as a pillow. She, shivering in her shirtsleeves, was curled close to his side. The Doctor's face was shiny with sweat, and he seemed to be wheezing.

Pippin shrugged. "He's a wizard, isn't he? What else do you want to know?"

"I know he's a WIZARD, Pip. M'not stupid. I just mean…" Merry scratched the back of his head. "…y'know. We've not met another wizard beside Gandalf. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And as far as we know, he's the only one in these parts. Yeah?"

"Yeah."

"And wizards don't typically live in groups. They're solitary, right?"

"Right, Merry."

"Then where," Merry pointed at the Doctor, "did HE come from?"

Sam was glaring darkly at the Doctor. "I don't trust him."

Pippin gave Sam a surprised look. "Why not?"

Sam folded his arms, eyes not leaving the shaking Doctor. "I just don't. That's all."

Merry waved at him derisively. "Ah, don't do that. He's probably a friend of Gandalf's- that's what I figure. And anyway," he pointed the stick in the general direction of the Doctor and Rose, "Miss Rose seems nice."

Pippin smiled at the sleeping women. "Yeah. That she is."

The other two stared at him. "What d'you mean, Pip?"

Pippin flushed red. "Nothin'."

Merry's eyebrows drew together. "Wait…" A look of surprise overcame him. "D'you FANCY her, Pip?"

Pippin jumped. "No!" he said, a little too quickly.

Merry looked outraged. "You DO! Gee, Pip! What's the matter with you?" He shook his head in disapproval. "Y'don't even KNOW her!"

Pippin pointed a finger in Merry's face. "YOU were the one who said she was nice!" he protested. "I just…" Pippin trailed off, and his eyes lit up.

"YOU FANCY HER TOO!"

"I DO NOT!" Merry leapt from his seat, Pippin doing the same. The two Hobbits stared at each other, both frowning mightily. Sam was glad they had woken him; he would've missed this.

After a full thirty seconds of righteous indignation, Merry looked back to the food in an attempt to seem casual. "Anyways, Pip," he said. "Even if you DID fancy her, you wouldn't stand a chance."

Pippin's face grew even redder. "What do you mean?"

Merry smiled. "I mean, I'm the tall one. You're what, three-foot-six? I'm pushing three-eight. I've got a better shot at it." He gave his sputtering cousin a falsely comforting look. "Better find someone shorter."

Pippin shoved a finger in Merry's face. "She… you…" Merry smiled pleasantly.

Sam snorted. "You're two idiots, you are. Big Folk don't like Hobbits. Never have. And anyway, don't you think Miss Rose is… well…" he winked. "Otherwise engaged?"

They stared at him in confusion. "What do you mean, Sam?"

Sam put his hands behind his head. "I MEAN, haven't you seen how she looks after the wizard?" He jerked his head at the sleeping couple. "Think about it."

The two small Hobbits stared at the two of them for a moment. No one spoke. Sam began loading the sausages and tomatoes onto a plate and threw some bacon onto the skillet.

"Well…" Merry said finally. "Maybe not."

Pippin looked at him blankly. "What?"

"They may only be friends. She called him a friend, remember?"

"Oh… Oh, right!"

The two Hobbits beamed at each other, and they sat back down together. Sam waited for the inevitable. Pippin didn't disappoint.

"Er… Merry?"

"Mm?"

"How can we tell?"

"What?"

"How can we tell for sure that they're not… y'know."

Merry scratched his head, and his face brightened. "We'll ask."

Sam snorted painfully, trying to keep from laughing. "You can't just ASK!"

The two of them whirled on him suddenly. "Oh, yeah?" Merry challenged. "Had a lot of experience with Big Folk?"

Sam reddened.

"Oh, no Merry!" Pippin corrected wickedly. "It's him and… what's her name? Rhonda?"

"Ruth?"

"Rosie Fleece?"

"What are you doing?"

The three of them whirled towards the noise to find Frodo staring at them in horror. They inwardly sighed, all happy for the change of subject.

"Potatoes, tomatoes," Merry said happily, "and nice, crispy bacon."

"We saved some for you, Mister Frodo."

"Put it out, you fools!" Frodo raced over to the campfire and began stamping on it in panic. "Put it OUT!"

"Oh, that's nice!" Pippin chastened, pulling the frying pan away. "Ash, all over my potatoes!"

Then, a loud screech sounded across the valley and the four Hobbits froze in terror. Across the room, Rose sat up quickly.

"What was that?"

…

Aragorn heard the screech too.

After a quick second, he began running headlong up the hill. He'd never beat them there, he knew. They could move faster than any man could.

He could only hope to get there before to many of his party died.

…

Rose's eyes and brain weren't working together.

_Run, _her eyes shouted to her. _Run! Get up! DO SOMETHING! CAN'T YOU SEE THEM?_

_But it's impossible, _her brain screamed. _This is all a bad dream! A nightmare!_

Never before had the words "seeing is believing" meant so much to her. The aliens she had encountered with the Doctor (who was shivering worryingly by her side) seemed like child's play compared to… to _them._

There were nine of them, all impossibly tall, impossibly dark, impossibly fast. They moved like oil on water, clutching blunt swords in their bony hands. The Hobbits were shouting, screaming at each other.

They hadn't noticed her yet. She had the element of surprise.

Rose had never shot an arrow before, but she wasn't going to let that stop her. She fitted an arrow to the string of the bow, pulled back, and let loose. The arrow went wildly off course; feathers slicing her cheek open with a sharp whip. The arrow itself glanced off a rock near one of _them_, and he (she? it?) turned.

And it stared at her.

Rose felt like she was falling; the bow dropped from her hands with a clatter, but she didn't hear it. Her tongue shriveled. Her ears thrummed. She felt her stomach drop into her shoes, icy bubbles filling her veins.

It looked away.

Rose's knees buckled, and she was dimly aware of the Hobbits shouting. Desperate, alone, and more terrified than any human had the right to be, she buried her head in the nearby Doctor's neck.

"Help," she whimpered. "I need your help. We need you. Please. _Please._"

The Doctor didn't move.

She was going to die.

…

Aragorn was one hundred feet from the top of the mountain when a harsh scream pierced the air.

Frodo.

He was too far away to help. Too far away to save anyone.

He had failed.

Unbeknownst to him, on top of the mountain, a man stood up and raised his arm, a weapon clenched in his fist.

A wave of pure light and sound washed over Aragorn, spreading like a ripple down the mountainside. He was blinded, his night-vision ruined, and the previously clear mountain became a splotch of black. Clenching his eyes shut in order to renew some of his sight, the ranger was forced to slow his pace a fraction.

Only a fraction.

Finally reaching the top of the mountain, Aragorn looked around fiercely. The scene was unlike any he had seen before.

Large black circles marked the areas where _they _had stood. They had vanished. Disappeared, driven by the light.

Bill the Pony was still tied up, braying and bucking madly.

Frodo was lying next to a rock, choking and sputtering in pain. Sam was crouched next to him, hastily trying to keep the blood from spilling from his master's shoulder. But he wasn't looking at him. Neither were Merry or Pippin. Nor Rose.

All of them (Aragorn included) were staring at the same thing. A man was standing, arm still flung out in the same position. A metal wand was clutched in his fist, end still glowing. His face was a mass of concentration and stressed lines, hair standing straight up.

The Doctor turned to Aragorn, mouth quirking into a dark smile.

"What did I miss?"


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: I know, I know, I'm a horrible person and this is VERY late. Therefore, I put an extra-special amount of work into it. Hope you all enjoy.**

* * *

Waking up from unconsciousness is probably one of the most overwhelming experiences any being can have- at least for a newly-regenerated Time Lord.

Humans, when knocked out, had it easy- their sensation came back slowly, trickling into their minds. Each sense would blur into existence, allowing the owner to adapt to the new flow of information before the next reappeared. When they finally awoke, it was like emerging from a restless night of sleep- a bit groggy and confused, but usually none the worse for wear.

Time Lords were the exact opposite- and after the day he had just had, The Doctor had it worst of them all.

His body had shut down, gone offline, gone off the proverbial "mortal coil". His senses, his emotions- all had shut down but one; his touch telepathy. He could not feel anything but the feelings of others- and by others, in this case, it had been Rose and Strider.

Since the emotions of the man had been too complex and deep to deal with in his current state, he had inadvertently focused on Rose- who, bless her heart, had simple emotions. He had felt her panic, felt her distrust- it had hit him like a knife in the gut, and wordlessly, motionlessly, he had begged for her to touch him again, in order to get a sense of what was happening.

Finally- thankfully- her hands had lingered on his head, and a clear sense of safety and trust bled into The Doctor's mind. Whoever he was with, Rose trusted them, and that was enough for him. She curled up next to him, and a brush against his neck let the lethargy and comfort of sleep had rock him, like a mother's cradle. His hold on the present relaxed, and The Doctor's consciousness coiled into itself, wrapped in a daze of self-healing and cell rebirth. Rose was safe; he was safe. He slept.

Then all hell broke loose.

His attention was pulled from easy sleep to the near-surface as Rose's arms brushed his face. Not for long, but long enough for him to sense strong emotions emanating from her: disbelief, panic, and an overwhelming sense of terror. The Doctor had stiffened unconsciously- what had happened in such a short period of time? What had he failed (once again) to prevent? His body tried to tell him to stay asleep; to let the regeneration finish, but his mind would not be so easily tamed.

Breaking free of his own physical necessity had not been easy- no part of him would move. Not a finger, eyelid, or nostril. His breath stayed even, his pulse still double-beat at the same speed. But inside? Inside was another story. He battled, clawed, and more than once had the feeling of a butterfly in a cocoon. He had been about to give up from mental exhaustion, when he heard a voice. It was too slow, reaching him through ears that were too lazy to register any faint noise. But the voice was close, and very, very dimly, he felt the sensation of breath on his ear. Spurred on, he strained every neuron, and finally grasped the meaning of the words.

_Please. PLEASE. _

It was Rose. And she was about to die. She was about to die because he couldn't save her.

The next forty seconds were a blur, something he was glad about. His brain had the decency to keep him in a bubble, shielded from sensation, and he saw everything as though it was happening to someone else. He saw The Doctor (not a bad-looking chap, either) sit up, a look of pure death etched on his face. He saw the Sonic Screwdriver rise into position, and he saw the ghost-demon-what-have-you's retreat from the light. He saw The Doctor speak to the tall, scruffy man. He saw their gazes upon him.

He saw the small man, struggling for life. He ran to him. He lived the next five minutes as an automaton.

And deep down, in the very edges of his mind, he dreaded the moment when his body would catch up with his mind, and he would truly wake.

* * *

"Mister Frodo!"

The small cry cracked the night in two, Sam's desperate voice echoing down the hill. Aragorn thought briefly about the Nazgul- could they hear him?- but the thought was pushed away as quickly as a passing cloud.

Mister Frodo, indeed.

The wound in his shoulder was short, but even from his far-away vantage point, Aragorn could tell it was deep. The tiny Hobbit bucked and thrashed, in the throes of a fever that moved faster than any mortal disease. His eyes were glazing over; the white becoming grey, the blue becoming unnaturally bright. His tongue flapped in a dry mouth, and beads of sweat crowned his forehead. A choked whine curled from his throat- Aragorn could not look away.

"Help him, Strider!" Sam's plea snapped Aragorn from his disgusted inspection, and he snatched up the weapon, examining it.

"He has been stabbed by a Morgul blade," he murmured as said weapon suddenly melted, turning to ashes. Aragorn shook his hand in disgust, feeling the ash slither off his bare flesh. "It is beyond my ability to heal…" Aragorn trailed off as he heard a noise of protest from Sam, turning in time to see the tall man- _the wizard?_- crouch next to Frodo. Quickly he drew his sword, five smooth strides carrying him across the courtyard, and carrying his blade to the man's Adam's apple.

"Do not touch him," he commanded. The tall man didn't move, or even flinch at the feel of the metal on his neck; Aragorn wasn't sure he was breathing. All he did was continue to stare at the whimpering Hobbit, a look of complete disinterest on his face.

"Back away from Frodo," he tried again, his voice hardening. The man looked up at him, and Aragorn had to steel himself to keep from quailing under his gaze.

His look was not one of anger, or impertinence, or even a challenge. It was simply dead; the look in a corpse's eyes. Aragorn was struck at once at how completely indifferent the look was. It was the look you give a beetle, or a bird in the sky. Simple recognition that something exists, and nothing beyond it.

They stared at each other, neither looking away.

The man's eyes were bottomless, a trip and half away from the sparking orbs he had possessed before he had fainted. But there was an odd second layer to them, and Aragorn got the impression of a thin dam trying to hold back an ocean. There was something brewing within this man; something that his thin, apathetic shell could not hold back for long.

Something… otherworldly. Something _wrong_.

And it was something an injured Hobbit would do well without.

Aragorn looked away first, berating himself for feeling his wounded pride blossom in his stomach. Frodo was the main concern; not his own masculinity. He scooped the small man into his arms, stomach dropping as he felt spasms arc Frodo's back, and took off on a swift walk down the side of the mountain.

All the while, he tried to ignore the hole that the tall man's gaze was boring into the rear of his head, and reminded himself not to look back.

* * *

Something was terribly, terribly, _terribly_ wrong.

Rose bent at the waist, propping the heels of her hands on her knees and staring at The Doctor. The party had relocated down the mountain, the Hobbit named Frodo swaddled in the arms of Strider. They had run as fast as they could while trying their hardest not to fall, the Hobbits having a harder time of it, what with their large feet catching on every tree root and stone in their paths. They brought up the rear, and even now were crashing into the thicket. Strider moved like a deer, but The Doctor and she had not been far behind. She almost gave a dark chuckle- it seemed that the fantastic amount of running she did on a daily basis was paying off.

Strider had lain Frodo down on a bed of moss near a rock, trying to keep him comfortable. The small man choked and moaned, eyes rimmed red and face ashen. "Come on, Frodo," the ranger whispered, half to himself Rose thought. The Doctor did nothing. He stood ramrod still, eyes trained on Frodo's contorting face and expression blank.

And that's what was wrong. The Doctor she had known had always wanted to help, always sticking his nose into business- especially when it didn't belong there. If he knew what to do, he did it to the best of his ability, usually fighting off confused and protesting next-of-kin while doing so. If he didn't know what to do… well, he'd whip out his screwdriver and blurt out a mountain of sonicky technobabble until he _did_ know. He was compassionate- at least, he used to be. Rose wasn't sure this new Doctor would be the same way, but for God's sakes, he shouldn't just stand there.

He shouldn't be this… this… _detached_. It was like he wasn't there, like he thought it was a dream.

"Are you… are you alright?" she asked him quietly, still panting slightly. He looked at her sideways, eyes dead.

"I'm not entirely sure." His voice, tinged in that same unfamiliar accent, was just as dead as his face. No inflection; no emotion. He spoke like he was reading a textbook.

She waited for more from him, but he didn't continue. She tried again. "You were unconscious for-"

"What were they?" The Doctor looked at her with the same blank expression. "The hooded men. Were they pilot fish?"

She merely stared at him. He had spoken that last line as calmly as if he was asking her if she was out of milk. "Were they _what_?"

"Pilot fish," he repeated. When she merely gave him an incredulous look, he turned back to stare at the two by the rock. She watched him, noticing a small twitch appearing in his lower eyelid.

A small gasping noise by her elbow meant the arrival of Pippin, Merry, and Sam- the latter rushed to the gasping Frodo's side. "Is he going to die?"

"No," Strider responded. "He is passing into the shadow world. He will soon become a wraith- like them."

"Them?" Rose asked, as a low, keening wail echoed over the clearing, raising goose pimples on her arms and the back of her neck. Frodo let out a spasmodic gasp as though in reply, and Strider hastened to calm him. "Oh," she said softly. "_Them_."

"They're close," Merry whispered. Rose looked down at him to find he was shaking; Pippin as well. The two of them drew together, like magnetized fillings.

Strider seemed to be thinking hard. "Sam, do you know the Athelas plant?" To the Hobbit's blank look, he elaborated: "Kingsfoil?"

Sam's brow furrowed. "Kingsfoil… aye, it's a weed!"

"It may help to slow the poison," Aragorn hastened. "Hurry!" He turned to Rose. "Tend to Frodo- we shall return soon."

The two of them set off in separate directions. Rose rushed to the side of the shivering Frodo, pushing past the unresponsive Doctor. She wrapped him in her hoodie in a futile attempt to stop his convulsions. Rose hesitated a moment and then, remembering what her mother used to do when she was sick, kissed Frodo on the forehead. It was hot as a kettle, and she quickly drew back feeling awkward.

How in the world do you "tend" to someone?

"Can your wizard help us?" Pippin whispered to her, kneeling by her side. Both cast a glance at The Doctor, who was currently staring vacantly at a spot five inches above Rose's bent head. Rose turned to Pippin, shaking her head slightly.

"No, Pippin. I don't think he can."

* * *

The bubble was breaking.

The Doctor began fighting to organize himself. His emotion, his sensation-all were fighting to break free. He fought them back, only allowing the basics- touch, sight, hearing, speech. Even taste was too risky for him at the moment- too many unknown compounds around. His tongue felt like a withered leaf.

Deep down, he felt a hot, prickly shame about his actions towards Rose. She looked at him like he was an invalid; a horrible mix of pity and righteous anger. Why didn't he come help them? Why didn't he do anything?

The Doctor was at war. He had awoken too soon, and he now knew that. The regeneration had gone horribly wrong, and he needed more time than he had to set himself upright again. His body, logically, was trying to shut back down, and he- by sheer force of will- was staying awake. His body couldn't take it. His _mind_ couldn't take it.

He couldn't hold on much longer.

* * *

Rose was close to crying. Frodo's breathing was getting more and more shallow, and she had no idea what to do for him. Jackie had never known either- anything, from a skinned knee to bronchitis, had warranted an icepack and a trip to the doctor. It meant that Rose had skipped school quite often, but now it meant she didn't know how to nurture. And she felt quite terrible about it.

What if he _died_ whilst Strider and Sam were out finding the plant? What then? Would they kill her? The Doctor, would they kill him too? Would he even _notice_?

Suddenly, Rose heard a slight shuffle behind her, and felt every muscle freeze, mind jumping to the awful "pilot fish" they had seen earlier. She turned slowly, squinting behind her, and her jaw nearly de-hinged from shock.

It was a _woman_. The most beautiful, flawless woman Rose had ever seen, and she got the impression that she'd be jealous if she wasn't so amazed. Rose stumbled away from Frodo as the woman approached, feeling clunky and slow in her presence. Her arms and legs felt two-times too big, and she suddenly became aware that her mouth was still open, snapping it shut with a blush.

The woman bent next to Frodo's ear and whispered a few words in a language Rose didn't understand. Whatever it was, Frodo's body relaxed a modicum of an inch, and he wheezed gently. The woman looked up at Aragorn- who, Rose realized, had arrived with her- and grimaced beautifully.

"He's fading," she said softly in English. "He won't last. We need to get him to my father. I've been looking for you for two days already. There are five wraiths behind you- where the other four are, I do not know." She made a small clucking noise with her tongue, and a horse trotted out of the thicket. Rose continued to gape.

"That's an _elf_," Sam whispered.

Strider hoisted Frodo, his small head lolling about, to the back of the horse, and both he and the elf made a move to jump into the saddle. After a short, angry, musical conversation, the woman climbed up and sat behind the deathly Hobbit. "Arwen," Strider said softly. "Ride hard. Don't look back."

And, with a short cry to her horse, she was gone. The thicket seemed to grow darker in her absence.

After a long, somber moment, Sam looked up at Strider. "What about us?" he asked shortly, and Rose could tell he was uncomfortable about being away from his master. Strider told him something about the elf sending her kinsmen to get them soon, but Rose wasn't listening to him. She was listening to another noise- a faint groan. She turned quickly, just in time to see her one connection to her own world arch his back and shriek in agony, his hands on his head.

"_Doctor_!"

* * *

He could hold on no longer. The bubble popped. The Doctor _felt_.

His tongue nearly popped out of his mouth, chemical compounds oozing from every surface and begging to be analyzed. His eyes burned from the sudden color and movement, the fire in Scruffy Man's hand leering at him and searing his retinas. Noise crashed into his ears, swirling into a hurricane of thoughts and ideas. The chirp of a beetle became a roar, and he subconsciously jerked away from it.

He needed to breathe; he needed control. His hearts were pounding and his lungs were drowning and his ears were humming and his eyes were burning and his-

"Doctor!" And then- _no, please, no_- Rose grabbed his face. He had thought her emotions loud before? Now they were a symphony. A symphony full of brass bells and car alarms. Her panic encased him, followed by a myriad of other ideas and feelings. He jerked away, squeezing his eyes shut. "LET GO!"

She did, but nothing would help him. His body turned against him, failing limbs sending him into a ball on the ground. Colors; sounds; shapes; they meant nothing to him now. It was a tangled blur of existence, and he was holding onto it by a thread.

His brain was imploding. A screech, a flash of light from within his head…

And then, nothing. Nothing at all.


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: So… Four months. Please don't throw rotten fruit at me. Here's the thing, y'all- I lost inspiration for this. Flat-out. So what brought me back? Well… you did. Yes, YOU. All of you out there who review, and favorite- even MONTHS after my last chapter. You all have faith in me, and in this story. So thank you. You saved the Doctor. Not many people can say that. Enjoy.**

* * *

Rivendell was inhuman, in more ways than one.

Every polished surface, every time-smoothed stone, every sky-scratching statue simply oozed elegance and majesty in a way that no structure she'd ever seen had- or could. There was something dizzying at the pure _perfection_ of her surroundings. Not a line askew, not a tree bending the wrong way. Even the air wasn't hot or cold, nor dry or humid.

It would have been the most wonderful place she had ever been, if it wasn't so disturbing. Some deep part of herself- somewhere between her heart and her stomach- was rebelling at the faultlessness of it all. Humans didn't and couldn't do or make anything like this, and what's more they shouldn't, she thought.

Her mind kept flashing to Powell. The scuffed floorboards where she had crawled on bended knee; The couch with the dent in the middle cushion that she had curled up and watched Christmas specials on; The fire escape on the nearby building she had shimmied down for ill-advised meetings with past boyfriends.

Powell wasn't ugly. Powell was imperfect, and imperfections were what made things relatable; what made them… well, _homey_. How could any of the elves feel comfortable when the floors they walked on were so flawless they were afraid to touch them?

The _elves_. So tall. So fair. So inscrutable. They had given her everything she could have asked for, before she had asked. A hot bath. Clean, soft clothes (though she kept tripping over her dress). A room with a breathtaking view of a waterfall and a bed nearly the size of her room back home. Yet every word to each other in their language, every ghostly smile playing around their mouths seemed to be directed at her. At her tangled wavy hair. At her too-big front teeth.

Yes, Rivendell was beautiful. And Rose hated it. She hated the splendor. She hated the sphinxlike elves.

But mostly, she hated that the Doctor wasn't there.

He was there _physically_, of course. His thin chest rose and fell with steady (if shallow) breaths. His eyelids would flutter, sending spears of false hope through her abdomen through her. A hand placed on his chest revealed two heartbeats chasing each other across his chest.

Yet he was gone. There was no goofy grin, no sparkle in his eye, no underhanded quips or surprisingly comforting comments. The Doctor was gone, and even if he awoke he would _always_ be gone. Having this new Doctor in the dark jacket and trousers she knew so well had lessened the blow before, but now that he had been changed into a plain linen shirt and pants, it hit her like a brick to the face.

From his sideburns to his long legs, this Doctor was a stranger. She didn't know if she even wanted him to awaken. She went from wishing desperately for him to open his eyes, to wishing he'd never wake up, to feeling awful for doing so. It was giving her emotional whiplash.

Currently at the beginning of the spectrum, Rose leaned forward in her chair. Pushing the long sleeves of her dress back up to her elbows, she stared intently at the man in the bed. "Doctor…"

Nothing. Not even a tremor in his breath.

"Doctor. Please. Wake up. You have to."

No response. Taking a shuddery breath, she sat back.

"Frodo… he's awake, Doctor. He's alive. Touch and go for a few days, but he woke up yesterday. One of the elves told me. She asked again if I wanted to have Elrond come in and look at you… that's their king. And doctor, I suppose."

Another deep breath.

"I said no. If he does, he'll know you're not human. He'll feel your hearts double-beat. He'll… I don't know what. Maybe I should tell him. I dunno know what to do."

Rose placed her forehead in her hands, closing her eyes. "I dunno anything anymore."

There was a long silence, broken only by the constant thrumming of the waterfalls outside. Then, a very small squeak sounded from behind her.

Rose whirled around, terrified of who was there. The room was empty. But still… that had been a floorboard…

"I dunno how much you heard…" she called haltingly. "But please come out. I won't hurt you." A small pause. "Neither will he."

_I'm not sure he could,_ she thought to herself.

There was a noise of stifled murmuring, and then two curly heads poked out from behind the doors to the room. Rose felt her spine relax a quarter of an inch. "Merry? Pippin?"

The two Hobbits looked guilty, yet a hint of fear was displayed around their tense shoulders and clenched jaws. "Miss," Pippin muttered; his gaze (and his cousin's) fixed on the Doctor's unconscious form.

Rose swallowed. "How much did you hear?"

Merry shot her a shifty look. "Enough, miss. Just… enough."

Rose tried to smile. "Don't you know it's rude to eavesdrop?"

"We weren't droppin' eaves!" Pippin protested suddenly. "We were… erm…"

"Bringing elevenses!" Merry filled in for him, eyes widening in innocence. "We know the elves give you food, but we figured we'd bring you… um… more," he finished lamely. Pippin had ducked back behind the door, emerging with a tray laden with bread, cheese, cold meats, pastries, and even a teapot. A few Hobbit-sized bites out of one of the cheeses tipped off Rose that this particular feast hadn't been meant for her.

She gave them a dubious grin. "Is that for me?"

"Yes!" Merry piped up with a strained smile. Pippin looked at the tray forlornly until Merry elbowed him, letting out a slight squeak and nodding reluctantly.

Rose raised an eyebrow, beckoning them over with a sideways nod. "C'mere. I'll tell you a story."

* * *

"The only one?" Merry asked in wonder, a few pastry crumbs dropping out of his mouth.

Initially too wary of the sleeping Doctor to go too close, the two had relaxed after Rose had offered to share "her" tray with them ("Well, if you're not going to eat it, miss…"). They had set up a neat picnic around the foot of the bed, careful to avoid setting anything too close to its inhabitant (yet a few smears of jam revealed where Pippin had rested a hand on the sheets before jerking it back as though it'd be bitten off).

Rose had told them a story, and they had proved to be good listeners. Admittedly, most of the story had to be changed; she couldn't expect them to understand time and space travel, gas-mask zombies or even what plastic was. But the basics, she found, resonated across the societal barriers. And it felt good to tell someone.

She had told them the story of a lonely god; a roaming warrior who saved others because he couldn't always manage to save himself. A man who rescued a young girl from a life of obscurity and thrust her into a life of miracles, history, and an indecent amount of running. A man who came from a distant place, one he could never return to.

"It was called Gallifrey," she told them. "And it was destroyed. And he," she said, gesturing to the Doctor's body, "is the last person… the last Gallifreyan alive."

"The only one?" Merry repeated in wonder. "The very _last_ one?"

"The very last," Rose nodded.

This was met with a profound silence from the two Hobbits. Pippin gazed helplessly at the time lord, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. "But that's so sad," he whispered. "He's all alone."

Rose watched the Doctor's chest rise up and down. "All alone?" she echoed softly. "No. He has me. Or… had, I guess." Her eyes begun to burn, and she looked down at her lap. A few footsteps were heard, and a cup of steaming tea was thrust into her vision.

"Not just you, miss," Pippin's voice said. She looked up to find him smiling at her. "He's got me, too." She smiled back, taking the tea from him.

"_Us_," Merry said sternly, not to be outdone by his cousin. "He's got _us_, Pip. And we won't tell a soul, miss," he told Rose, bowing slightly. "You can trust me."

"_Us_," Pippin protested. "She can trust _us_." The two glared at each other.

"Thank you; both of you," Rose said hurriedly. "On behalf of both of us," she added, jerking her head at the Doctor.

"What's wrong with him?" Merry asked, the two Hobbits looking away from each other. Rose got the impression the two argued often. And enjoyed it.

"I dunno," she said softly.

"Maybe he needs some tea," Pippin piped up helpfully.

"Pip, he doesn't need tea," Merry gave his cousin a sharp look, who merely shrugged.

"Alright. Cheese then."

Rose laughed despite herself, and Pippin beamed with pride. The two fell to the task of informing her with everything they could think of that might help the Doctor (most involving food), until the pitter-patter of bare feet on stone caught their attention. A head of blonde hair shot by their terrace, speeding away with no glace sideways. The three were silent.

"Wasn't that your friend?" Rose asked.

"Sam," Merry agreed. "But where's he goin'?"

"Probably to that meetin'," Pippin remarked, snatching up another piece of meat.

"Meeting?" Rose asked.

"A meeting we're not invited to," Merry muttered. "Frodo only. The rest of us aren't _important_ enough to know what's goin' on."

"We could… go to the meeting…" Rose mused after a moment. They looked at her in surprise, and she gave them a mischievous grin. "Only for a moment. Just to see what they're talking about. And maybe, we just don't… tell anyone."

The Hobbits grinned widely, rushing past her and out the door. Rose watched them go, standing up and setting the cup of tea on a small table near the Doctor's face. Her eyes catching on his face, she paused, guilt washing over her.

"I'll be back in a mo, Doctor," she whispered to him. "Just one minute. I swear."

"Miss Rose!" one of the Hobbits hissed from the doorway, and with one last look Rose took off after them.

Leaving the food- and tea- behind.

* * *

"Can you hear them?" Pippin whispered from behind his pillar.

"They are goin' to hear _us_ if you don't hush up," Merry snapped at him sotto voce. Rose motioned for the both of them to be quiet, the three falling silent as they strained to hear the discussion of the meeting.

And what a meeting it was; they had arrived too late to hear anyone introduced, but a glance around revealed that Rose was in unknown territory. A throng of elves was present, each more fair and flawless than the previous. One blonde man was so beautiful, she was having a hard time believing he was real.

Across the circle was a troop of short hairy men that could only be dwarves, glaring at everyone present from under thick foreheads. Next to them was a group of humans, led by a bulky man with blonde hair and a beard. Around twenty pairs of eyes stared intently at three chairs.

Sitting in a place of honor was an elf with a circlet upon his brow, his face neither old nor young, yet infinitely sad- Lord Elrond. Next to him was a tall, bearded old man and next to him, a very nervous Frodo. As they watched, Elrond leaned forward and addressed the council.

"Strangers from distant lands... friends of old. You have been summoned here to answer the threat of Mordor. Middle-earth stands upon the brink of destruction. None can escape it. You will unite...or you will fall. Each race is bound to this fate...this one doom."

Rose felt a shiver run down her spine, as Elrond held out one hand towards Frodo. "Frodo… bring forth the One Ring." The Hobbit stood slowly, hand reaching into his pocket and reluctantly setting a small something down on a stone plinth. Immediately the members broke out into a very small, very controlled chaos, with much gasping and gnashing of teeth. One raised hand from Elrond, and they fell silent. The blonde man stood up, eyes fixed hungrily on the stone.

"It is a gift...a gift to the foes of Mordor! Why not use this Ring? Long has my father, the Steward of Gondor, held the forces of Mordor at bay...by the blood of our people are your lands kept safe. Give Gondor the weapon of the enemy...let us use it against him!"

Across the circle, another man stood. It took Rose a minute to realize it was a much cleaner, well-dressed Strider. "You cannot wield it. None of us can. The one ring answers to Sauron alone...it has no other master."

The blonde man turned to him cooly. "And what would a ranger know of this matter?"

The gorgeous blonde elf stood in irritation. "This is no mere Ranger. He is Aragorn, son of Arathorn. Heir to the throne of Gondor. You owe him your allegiance."

Rose raised an eyebrow, turning to the two Hobbits. "Did you know?" she mouthed at them, met by two shaking heads. So, Strider was a prince. And he hadn't told anyone. Why? A loud bang caught her attention, and she looked back just in time to see a bearded dwarf fly across the circle, his axe exploding on the stone.

From there passed a few confusing minutes of low speaking and whispers, but Rose did her best to puzzle out what was happening. The ring (the axe-exploding ring) was dangerous; that much was clear. And they needed to get rid of it. But the steadily rising voices and accusatory tones indicated that this wouldn't be as easy as it seemed. At last, the same dwarf that had been knocked over yelled something about never trusting an elf, and the Council seemed to erupt.

Rose was close to sneaking back to the Doctor's room, having long since abandoned any hope of understanding what was going on, when she felt Pippin yanking on the sleeve of her dress in a panic. "What?" she whispered to him, and was met with nothing but an urgent point. Following it, Rose looked up.

And felt her stomach drop into her shoes.

Pippin had pointed at Frodo, who was currently standing and craning his neck to see something much taller than himself. Something taller than most of the men there. Something currently waving its arms and looking absolutely ridiculous in nightclothes.

"EXCUSE ME! EXCUSE ME!" The Council quieted at this new noise, this new voice. All eyes turned to the Hobbit, and his new companion.

The Doctor gave them an irritable look. "Thank you." He raised his eyebrows at a very confused Frodo. "You were saying?"

To the Council's credit, they only took ten seconds to draw their weapons. The Doctor gave the edge of the nearest axe a precursory look, before addressing the group as a whole. "Not a welcoming bunch, are you?"

"Who are you?" the blonde man demanded, gripping the handle of his sword tightly. The Doctor smiled at him.

"See, that's the tricky bit; I don't know," he said cheerfully. Crossing his arms behind his back, he tilted his head to the side. "I legitimately do not know who I am. I could be anyone now. Am I cheerful, or a right sad-sack? Funny? Sarcastic? Right-handed? Left-handed? Joker, smoker, midnight toker?" He winked. "Do I get my loving on the run?" The words began to come more quickly. "Gambler? Cheater? Liar? Fighter? Nervous wreck? I've certainly got a mouth on me, based on the evidence."

"Enough!" The blonde man crossed the circle, sword extending towards the throat of the Doctor- only to be blocked with a clang by another sword. Strider- _Aragorn_- was glaring at the other man.

"Lower your sword, Boromir," he commanded. "This man is no threat to you. He and his companion are a member of my party. He is the man I have spoken of; who caused the Nazgul to flee before him. This man… this man is my ally."

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow. "I am?"

"If I may interrupt," Elrond cut in smoothly, low voice slicing through the tension of the moment. The Doctor gawked at him.

"Oh! Of course," he grinned. "I see you've got a… thing going on. Lots of weapons. Lots of people. And look at me," he lamented, staring down at the white nightclothes. "I'm vastly underdressed."

"I believe Frodo was about to speak," Elrond interrupted again, and the Doctor fell silent.

Frodo stepped forward, still giving the Doctor a glance out of the corner of his eye. "The Ring…" he said quietly, then louder: "I will take the Ring to Mordor. But I do not know the way."

The courtyard fell silent at this proclamation, and beside her a still shocked Rose saw Merry and Pippin's mouths fall open in surprise. The bearded man rose turned to Frodo. "I will help you bear this burden, Frodo Baggins. As long as it is yours to bear."

Aragorn stepped forward. "You have my sword."

"And my bow," the blonde elf proclaimed.

"And my axe," the dwarf growled.

"You carry the fate of us all," Boromir said grandly. "If this is the will of the Council, Gondor will see it done." He stepped forward, but whirled suddenly and shouted "Here! Get away from there!"

The Doctor, standing next to the plinth where the Ring lay, was scanning it with his screwdriver that Rose only noticed now he held in his hand. His face was deathly serious, and he raised it to Frodo. "I don't know what this is," he said softly, eyes locked on the Hobbit's. "I don't know where you got it. But I will do everything I can to make sure it's destroyed as soon as possible."

"Here now!" Boromir protested, starting forward but cut off by a small form bursting into the circle.

"Mister Frodo isn't going anywhere without me!" Sam asserted, taking his place by his master's side. Next to her, Rose felt the other two Hobbits leaving.

"We're going too!" Merry stated proudly.

"You'd have to send us home in a sack to stop us!" Pippin echoed. The Doctor ignored the two of them, craning his neck to see behind them.

"Rose Tyler?" he called. "Is that you hiding back there?" Rose took a deep breath, and stepped from her hiding place to be greeted by a large, manic smile from the Doctor. "Rose Tyler! I knew you'd be somewhere around here! You always did shove your nose where it didn't belong." He stopped suddenly, cocking his head. "Ooh- that was rude. Am I rude now? Thank you for the tea, by the by. Just what I needed. Nothing like a superheated infusion of free radicals and tannin to warm the old synapse."

"Lord Elrond," Boromir began, but was cut off by the Doctor.

"She's going too. She's a companion of mine. I can't go anywhere without her." Rose felt a wild grin spread over her face, the Doctor's words sending her stomach fluttering.

"Lord Elrond, I must protest!" Boromir snapped, but the elven lord held up a hand.

"Aragorn. Can you speak for these two?" he asked calmly. Without looking down at them, Aragorn nodded. Elrond considered the group, head tilting to the side.

"Eleven companions… so be it. You shall be the Fellowship of the Ring."

There was a long, shocked pause as every eye in the Council turned on the Doctor and Rose. But the Doctor had more important things on his mind.

"Now- first thing's first! Rose, am I… _ginger_?"

* * *

**A/N: Read and Review!**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Hello again, everyone. Thanks to everyone who subscribed, followed, and especially all you reviewers out there. You warm the cockles of my cynical heart. I always appreciate any ideas or feedback. Remember: there's no such thing as a stupid idea, until you think of it.**

* * *

Nights in Rivendell were always quiet. The elves, so jovial and youthful in the light, either slept soundlessly or retired to the Hall of Fire to play music on muted instruments and sing in breathy tones. Even the world itself seemed to follow protocol; the wind died to a comforting whimper, and the waterfalls seemed to fall a little more calmly.

Nights in Rivendell were _always_ quiet. The Doctor, however, had not gotten that memo.

"Bit of an off name, isn't it? Not 'Rivendell,' I mean. That's just fine. Sounds like 'river' and 'dell.' I'm guessing that was rather your point, though. Or perhaps only a happy accident."

The Fellowship had retired to a small antechamber to 'discuss,' though the actual course of events seemed to more similarly resemble a battle. Man versus man and dwarf versus elf. The latter, at least, had been entertaining.

Gimli had cornered Legolas (a right feat, considering he came up to the elf's navel) and had stuck a thick finger into his face, asserting (in not so many words) that he would rather commit a physically impossible and rather unseemly act than work alongside a "traitorous elf," and that the elf in question had better retire from the quest, lest he hurt his pretty face. Legolas had responded (again, in not so many words) that Gimli should be glad to work with a species that at least had some dignity. Gimli had responded with a challenge to the death, Legolas asserting that he hoped the dwarf would be able to see high enough to face him in battle.

The fight had been broken up by a few choice words from Gandalf and both men had exited the room in a huff, looking more like scolded children than either would dare admit. The end result, however, was clear: the two would either work together, or kill each other. Possibly a mix of the two.

"But I mean, come now. 'The Last Homely House.' Did no one have an issue during whatever naming ceremony you held? I would've."

Aragorn and Boromir's fight, on the other hand, was anything but amusing. In fact, to Rose and the Hobbits, it was bordering on terrifying.

These were men trained to display poise, to radiate power. Their voices never rose above a dull roar, and they stayed seated. In simple terms they discussed the quest, their path, provisions to pack, and the strange guest at the Council who had caused such uproar. It was the expressions on their faces that showed their true emotion, and it was enough to make Rose physically flinch away every time either opened their mouth.

Boromir had the look of a man who was seconds away from unsheathing his sword and slicing the stomach of anyone in his line of sight. His hands would clench and unclench, and he kept casting disturbing glances at both Frodo and the Doctor. His shoulders and jaw remained tense during the entire meeting, and when his eyes weren't shifting back and forth they were intensely focused on Aragorn. The steward of Gondor was furious.

If Aragorn was at all fazed, he didn't show it. His face remained a mask of professionalism, and he remained reclined in a chair as though to assure everyone (mostly himself) that he was in control. Only when Boromir retreated to his room to rest (leaving a certain member of the room with a distrustful glance) did his shoulders slump in obvious relief. He murmured a goodnight before retreating from the room.

"Homely? That's the best anyone could think of? Know what 'homely' means where I come from? Unattractive. This place isn't homely. Manatees are homely. Vacuums are homely. Queen Victoria was homely- yes, she _was_, Rose, and you can't talk; you haven't met her."

Rivendell was supposed to be a haven where any sort of stress and hardship was relieved, yet The Fellowship had not even started their trek and was already in disarray. At least two members were struggling remaining in the same room together; another two were at each other's throats.

The Hobbits seemed stunned; Pippin staring into space after Merry had gotten through explaining where, exactly, they would be going. Frodo looked ready to either faint or bolt, and his fingers kept drifting up to his neckline to tap the small circlet of gold hanging there innocently.

Gandalf had refrained from speaking. He was content to listen, only intervening when someone seemed in danger of either overstepping their place (Boromir) or a dwarfish axe to the face (Legolas). So after the four party members left, no one seemed willing to break the silence.

"And this isn't a house. A house would imply it being… well, homely. This is a… thing. A confusing thing. D'you know what I found when I was looking for you, Rose? Hallways. Far too many hallways."

No one except the Doctor. Rose was learning new things about her Doctor. The first- and most important- was that he still wanted (and needed) her around.

The second was that he apparently had a violent aversion to pears; an elfin maiden had brought in a plate of food for him, and he had gone to the point of demanding that Rose carry the offending fruit outside and throw it as hard as she could. She had refused, and even now he would glance at it every so often, as though paranoid it would suddenly jump off the plate and strangle him.

The third was that when he was focused, he was _focused_. The entire 'discussion,' he had spent his time reclining on a nearby chaise lounge, long legs crossed jauntily, fiddling with his sonic screwdriver. Rose had no idea what he was doing; when she had inquired, he had answered: "Calling a friend." He hadn't looked up once; not even when Boromir called him "that odd man in the nightshirt."

"And though they were furnished nicely, there are far too many hallways in this place. What you lot need is a map. Or a few street signs."

And the last thing was the reason for his current speech. Her new Doctor, apparently, couldn't stand silence. After Boromir had left, he had launched himself into conversation- which probably wasn't the right word, as he still wasn't looking up from the screwdriver and no one was even attempting to respond to him. Gandalf was nodding slightly, a twinkle in his eye, and Rose knew he had figured out the same thing she had; the Doctor was stalling for time.

"So really," the Time Lord was saying, fingers working madly at a few wires, "a more appropriate name for this place would be something along the lines of 'The Last Inconceivably Gorgeous Enormous Habitation.'" A wire sparked in his grasp and he sucked in a sharp gasp of pain, sticking a burned finger in his mouth and finally looking up with an innocent look, eyebrow cocked.

"Then again, I suppose that doesn't roll off the tongue as nicely as 'Homely House.' Less alliteration," he said around his index finger.

Gandalf sat forward. "If I could interrupt," the wizard said seriously, though amusement twinkled in his gaze. "I have a few questions."

The Doctor grinned good-naturedly, fingers still working unconsciously at the screwdriver. "Go ahead. I may have a few answers."

Gandalf looked contented at the reply. "Very well, then. What is your name?"

"The Doctor." At the questioning look, the Doctor shrugged. "Just 'the Doctor.' Or 'Doctor', if we're being friendly."

"That's not a name," Sam suddenly piped up from the group of Hobbits. He looked suspicious, even as the Doctor grinned at him.

"It's what I call myself, Master Hobbit," he said simply. "'Master Hobbit' isn't a name either, yet that's what I'm calling you."

"Well don't," Sam said stubbornly. "I'm just Sam."

"And I'm just the Doctor," he replied. The two shared an odd look for a moment, until Sam furrowed his brow and looked away.

"Are you a healer?" Gandalf spoke up again.

"On occasion." This was accompanied by a dark smile.

A short pause followed, and Gandalf leaned forward again. "By this time, you are aware of exactly what we are up against. I believe Aragorn told you a short history of our war on the way over." The Doctor nodded, and the wizard continued. "The Ring that Frodo holds around his neck is the greatest threat to ever befall Middle Earth. If we cannot defeat it, the world will crumble into darkness. It is the responsibility of all those who dwell in this land to see it destroyed. And yet…"

The wizard's eyes narrowed and he looked back and forth from Rose to the Doctor. "I assume you are _not_ from Middle Earth."

Rose shrugged. "Nope."

The Doctor gave him a cheeky grin. "Not by strict definition of 'from,' no."

"And yet, you did something we expected from only those who know the true cost of this fight." Gandalf's eyebrows rose up his forehead. "You _volunteered_. I apologize if I seem hesitant to trust you, but anyone so instantly willing to accompany as powerful an object as the One Ring into Mordor-"

"You think I want it." The Doctor's voice was flat. "You think I'm going to take the Ring."

The tension thickened in the room. Unseen by anyone, Frodo's fingers tightened around his necklace.

The Doctor was silent for a while; the only noise his busy fingers tapping quick patterns into the sonic screwdriver. Finally, he spoke.

"Gandalf… I've experienced power. I know what it feels like to have the lives of thousands- _millions_- of people in your hands. I know what it's like to have the next decision you make change the world forever. I have felt ultimate power; ultimate responsibility."

The Doctor's eyes met Gandalf's, and something passed between them. In that moment, every year either had lived was evident on their faces. It was a glance only two people who have seen the very nature of life, happiness, and suffering can have.

"You can believe me; I never want to feel it again. And whatever that… _thing_ is? I've seen what power like that does. I've seen what it makes people do; people who do terrible things… maybe the wrong thing… because they think it's the right thing to do. I will do anything… _anything_ to see it's destroyed."

The Doctor held his gaze for another moment, and then looked back down at his hands with a sudden smirk. "I don't know much about myself, Gandalf. But I know I don't trust ultimate power. 'No such thing as a free lunch,' and all that." He glanced back up. "This making any sense?"

Gandalf tilted his head to the side. "Considering the circumstances… perfect sense." The wizard rose, crossing the room. "I trust you, Doctor," he said kindly, smiling at him. "But I believe you may need to work a bit harder to convince the rest of our party."

Rose smirked. "No worries. We're quite used to people not liking us."

Gandalf chuckled, turning and gesturing to the Hobbits. "Get some sleep, gentlemen. We wake at dawn." The Hobbits docilely followed him out of the room, Merry and Pippin inquiring if it was too late for supper or if they could perhaps combine it with breakfast the next morning.

At the last second, Frodo turned around and looked back at the Doctor and Rose. He waffled a bit, before walking back towards them. He gave the Doctor a trepid look. "May I speak with you for a moment?"

"Of course. I'll speak with anybody."

Frodo seemed to stumble over a few words, before simply giving the two of them a small smile. "I wanted to thank you."

The Doctor stuck out a hand to shake. "Not a problem. Been meaning to go on a holiday for a while now, anyway. The mountain air will do me good. Bracing, and all."

"And I've always wanted to go backpacking," Rose added with only a touch of spite.

Frodo took the offered hand, shaking his head slightly. "Not just that. All of this. Speaking for me at the Council. And both of you, going with us. Walking to Mordor, going to…" Frodo trailed off slightly, face falling a bit. "I'm just… I don't want anyone to…"

"Die for you." The Doctor's face was at once sympathetic and quizzical. Frodo's face collapsed for a short moment, before pulling himself together. Rose was suddenly struck with how terrified the little man must be.

"Gandalf, he trusted me to bring it here… and when Sam came along, I was already reluctant. And then Merry and Pippin… and they're still young. And now all of these elves and dwarves and men, and they all think I'm something important and they expect me to be brave and I wish I'd never started." All of this came out very quickly, and left the impression that he'd been waiting to tell someone. Frodo blushed and stared at his feet.

"I do. I wish I'd never started. And I know it's shameful-"

"Frodo," the Doctor interrupted, swinging his legs around and sitting facing the Hobbit. "Trust me; there is nothing shameful about being afraid." Frodo looked up incredulously, and the Doctor grinned. "Really. Nothing at all. Being afraid just means you don't want to die." He paused. "You _don't_, do you?"

Frodo shook his head so hard, Rose had to bite her tongue not to laugh. The Doctor ignored her, placing a hand on Frodo's shoulder. "There is nothing shameful about wanting to live, is there? Of course not. Living is wonderful. Living has laughter, and stars, and first loves, and pain, and joy, and sweaters at half-price. And death- from personal experience- has none of that at all. So really, we're getting the best end of the deal here."

Frodo's eyes widened. "From _personal_ experience?"

The Doctor gave him a wink. "I've done a lot in my life. And from what I've done, from what I've seen- it's usually people like you that surprise everyone else." He grinned. "It's usually people like you who are heroes."

Frodo's face didn't change, but Rose saw some tension go out of his shoulders. "Thank you, Doctor." The Doctor clapped him on the shoulder, and the Hobbit hurried out after his friends.

There was a small moment of silence, and then the Doctor stood suddenly and pressed a button on the now-complete sonic screwdriver. To Rose's surprise, a familiar _vworrp-vworrp_ noise soon came into range, and the TARDIS materialized on the balcony outside; a bit dirtier and with some snow still stuck to the bottom.

The Doctor winked cheekily at her. "C'mon. Let's get dressed."

* * *

"Any particular reason why you have ladies' clothing in your TARDIS?" Rose was glancing at herself in a mirror, pulling the sleeves of her new pink jacket down and turning to examine her jeans. The outfit looked strange in the surroundings of the room; Rivendell obviously hadn't seen a lot of pink.

"I've had a few companions over the years," the Doctor's voice echoed faintly to her from the cracked door of the TARDIS. "Most were women. It's a matter of preparation more than anything."

Rose cocked an eyebrow, glancing back at the blue box. "Really?"

"No. I just like feeling pretty."

Rose snorted. "Well, I'm done changing, anyway. C'mon out." There was a slight pause, and the Doctor appeared in the doorway. Dressed as a cowboy. Pointy boots, chaps, vest, and even a hat. He grinned at her from underneath the brim.

"What do you think?"

Rose stared blankly at him. His grin faded. "What? Too much?"

"A bit," she responded faintly. He scowled, closing the door again. Biting the inside of her cheek to keep herself from bursting into hysterics, Rose turned back to the mirror. "Alright, next question: why aren't we just taking the TARDIS to Mordor?"

"The old girl couldn't take it," his voice drifted back out to her. "Recalibrating the screwdriver to call her here strained her engine, and it was already strained from our little trip through the rip. She'd burn out, and then we'd be stuck here. Forever. Or, until I could find a suitable source of atron energy."

"So, forever then," Rose called back, laughing slightly. There was another small pause, and then the door opened again.

"Well?" the Doctor asked, beaming. She stared.

"Gladiator."

"Hm?"

"You're dressed as a Gladiator."

"No; I'm dressed as Roman centurion. Vastly different."

"Doctor, I am not going anywhere with you looking like that. Whatever you may call it."

The Doctor actually pouted, the horsehair fringe on the top of his helmet falling to the side. "Can I keep the helmet?"

"No. But you can keep the sword. And see if you can find one for me, too."

"You are a difficult person to please," the Doctor commented, stepping back into the TARDIS. Rose chuckled, and there was a short pause. A thought itched at the back of Rose's head; one that had cropped up during Gandalf's questioning, but she hadn't had the courage to voice until now.

"I know you were talking about yourself, you know."

Her assertion was met with silence.

"When you talked about people doing the wrong thing, because they thought it was right."

Still more silence. Then: "Do you believe in fate, Rose?"

Rose blinked. "I… I dunno."

"I don't." The Doctor was silent for a moment. "But us showing up here… out of everywhere else we could have gone. We could've died. We could've gone to a universe where everyone is penguins, or where their heads are on backwards. But we're here. We're somewhere we can do something… constructive."

Rose was silent, not sure where he was going.

"I'm not _me_, anymore, Rose. That is, not who you knew me as. And I'm tired of living in my past. I still think of it; always. But I can't… I'm not living in it. Not anymore."

The door to the TARDIS opened one final time, and the Doctor stepped out. Tan trench coat. Pinstripe suit. Tie. He looked serious, yet Rose saw a spark of excitement in his eyes.

"Right now, I'm living here. And I'm going to _live_, Rose."

He gave her a wild grin- a grin she'd get to know very well. A grin that meant adventure. He strode purposefully past her, white trainers squeaking on the stone floor.

"Come, Rose! Allons-y!"

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**A/N: Read/ Review**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: Hello again. Thank you all for your confidence and kind words, and for your criticism. And now…**

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"I want you to _react_, Pippin, not think."

"Shouldn't be too hard," Sam muttered to himself, poking at his frying pan. Next to him, Frodo's face split into a rare smile and Rose bit the inside of her cheek to keep from laughing.

The Fellowship was taking a well-earned break after trekking through miles and miles of the Misty Mountains. Deep valleys and surging rivers surrounded them everywhere they turned, their travels had been silent from all sides; they had been walking too quickly to speak.

The trip had been arduous, almost all uphill and sometimes hardly traversable except to climb hand over hand. The shorter members of the troupe had to be pushed from behind over places where their arms wouldn't reach, and at one memorable point Gimli had to be hoisted sullenly over a ledge by an equally-irritated Legolas.

Nothing, it turned out, brought people together in camaraderie more than physical labor.

The break had been announced on the peak of a mountain, surrounded on all sides by stone and scraggly weeds. An uncharacteristic sense of comfort had enveloped the group, somehow overwhelming the dread broiling in the bottom of their stomachs. Most of the bellies had been refilled, and now the group was spread across the bluff, trying to ignore the dark horizon in the distance and how it was steadily growing larger.

Gimli had launched into a furious whispered conversation directed at Gandalf, but the wizard had led him far enough away from the group to keep them out of earshot. Aragorn was staring into space, smoking and keeping to himself. Legolas was standing atop a small rise, looking as comfortable standing up and scanning the area as the rest of the group did lying around.

The Hobbits, so far from home and hearth, had fallen into a state of gloomy silence until Boromir had budged them up and insisted they learned sword fighting. However, based on how well Pippin was faring, Rose had a sneaking suspicion that Boromir's faith in this plan was dwindling.

"Move your feet," Boromir commanded for the fifth time, and swung his broadsword lightly at the Hobbit. Pippin's feet stayed firmly planted, body twisting madly to deflect the swing. Boromir sighed. "That was… better."

Pippin beamed, turning to his cousin in joy. "Hear that, Merry? I'm doing better."

"_Better_, not _well_, Pip," Merry said with a snigger. Pippin furrowed his brow.

"Focus, Pippin," Boromir chided, swinging the sword again in a few quick strokes. Pippin managed to block the first one with an odd wiggling motion, but wasn't so lucky the second time. The flat of the blade caught him in the fingers and he dropped his sword with a yelp. Boromir started forward to assist him but he simply trotted away muttering darkly, attended by Merry, who was unsuccessfully trying not to laugh.

Boromir seemed unwilling to let up on his lessons, and turned to the rest of the nearby group. "Sam and Frodo?" The two of them declined politely, Sam's eyes flicking to Pippin's rapidly-bruising knuckles.

Boromir gave Rose a hesitant look. "Women are not traditionally trained as warriors, but the situation-"

Rose waved him off. "Oh, no, that's alright. I was actually hoping to learn archery…" Her eyes grazed to the ever-alert Legolas, and a small blush flushed her cheeks. Boromir didn't notice; he had turned rather reluctantly to the last guest nearby.

"Doctor?" The man in question seemed in no mood for a lesson. He lying flat on the ground, coat tightly cinched around his waist to keep out the chill in the air. His arms were crossed behind his head, fingers interlaced and eyes closed. One snapped open to look up at Boromir, who seemed affronted at the unconcerned look on the Doctor's face. Nonetheless, he gestured to the fallen sword.

The Doctor smirked and closed his eyes again. "Thanks, but no. I'm more of a lover than a fighter."

"Don't be concerned about a lack of skill, Doctor." Boromir's smile looked a bit like a sneer. "I've trained soldiers of all levels. Surely you'll at least-"

"Oh, no," the Doctor interrupted, eyes opening again and grinning widely. "It's not a lack of skill. It's just that I doubt there's anything you could teach me."

There was a short silence. Gimli's voice rose slightly, and the word "Moria" was heard.

"What do you mean?" Boromir's voice was clipped. Letting out a small groan, the Doctor sat up and stretched.

"I already know how to sword fight," he sighed as his back popped. "I've known for several years, now. Sorry to disappoint."

Boromir's eyes narrowed. "I have studied combat all my life, _Doctor_." In his mouth, the title sounded like a slur.

The Doctor's grin seemed to grow colder. "I haven't, although I imagine in my case that would quickly lose its appeal. Get boring, you know?" Boromir glowered at him, and the Doctor shrugged. "I wouldn't, however, say no to a friendly sparring match."

Rose leaned towards him, concerned. "Doctor, I wouldn't-"

"Oh, but I would," the Doctor grinned at her, which she responded to with a glower.

"I _just_ got you conscious again, and now you're trying to ruin it."

"Sorry. Apparently, I have a serious impulse control problem." He winked, handing her his coat. "Hold this, and be careful. I'm fairly sure there are a few biscuits in the left pocket."

"I don't suppose you have a sword," Boromir sniped.

The Doctor shrugged. "Does a screwdriver count? It's sonic."

There was a metallic sound, and Aragorn handed his sword to the Doctor. "I will lend him mine," he said cordially to Boromir, and aimed a hidden smile at the Doctor.

"Be careful," he murmured. Then, after a moment: "He tends to leave his left unguarded." The Doctor gave him a quick grin and a nod.

Boromir was gripping the hilt of his weapon tightly. "I feel it only fair to warn you, Doctor," he called. "I was trained by the most skilled swordsmen of Gondor."

The Doctor cocked an eyebrow. "I feel it only fair to warn _you_ that I was trained by Akhenaten."

Boromir tilted his head. "Who is Akhenaten?"

"One of Cleopatra's foot-soldiers," the Doctor said nonchalantly, giving his sword a practice swing. "Fine lad. Good sense of humor. A bit frisky, but it was a different time."

Boromir's eyes narrowed. "A different time?"

"Vastly different." The Doctor spread his arms, a cocky smile on his face. "Are we going to spar or not? Because if not, I'd like to put my coat back on. There's a bit of a nip in the air."

Boromir didn't hesitate; he closed the distance between them in three strides and swung his sword. The Doctor countered, and the sound of metal meeting metal filled the air. The men moved with a terrifying grace, blades moving like an extension of their bodies. Their styles, however, couldn't have been more different. Boromir's actions were heavy and powerful, each move filled with purpose and strength. The Doctor, on the other hand, buzzed about and jabbed unexpectedly. One was a bear; the other, a mosquito.

Finally Boromir feinted to the left, and as the Doctor leaned to meet him he spun about and landed a hard blow to the Doctor's ribs with the flat of his blade. The Doctor stumbled, wrapping an arm around his chest and hissing in pain. Boromir smirked.

"Keeping your torso straight will make it easier for you to avoid losing your balance," he said casually. The Doctor nodded, palm flat against his side. Boromir seemed to consider him, then leaned forward and sliced down.

Rose let out a horrified shriek, but the Doctor dodged the blow, shoving Boromir off-balance and swinging close to his face. There was a small moment of silence as Boromir hastened to back away.

"Careful of leaning," the Doctor said calmly. "If your heel lifts, it's easier to knock you over."

Boromir scowled. "Anataken seems to have been a good teacher."

"Akhenaten," the Doctor corrected smoothly. "And it was actually his father, Edfu, who taught me that. A roaring drunk, but a fantastic swordsman when he could stand up and look straight."

Boromir seemed about to reply, but his mouth closed momentarily. "What is that?" The group turned, eyes narrowing and fight momentarily forgotten. A dark shape had appeared in the distance.

"You mean the cloud?" Rose asked, raising a hand to cover her eyes. The Doctor reached automatically for his screwdriver, forgetting he had handed his coat to his companion.

"That's not a cloud," Boromir murmured, and his concern quieted the group. "It's moving… _against_ the wind."

"Crebain!" Legolas shouted suddenly. "From Dunland!"

"Hide!" Aragorn said urgently, and the group scattered. Not all of them knew what Crebain were, and around the same number knew where Dunland was. But the actions of the rest of the group made one thing clear: they were not something to be trifled with.

Rose was frantically turning to find a place to hide, and in her terror she noticed the cloud was growing closer. After a moment, she realized what she was looking at.

Crebain were _birds_; dozens and dozens of them. Almost crows but not quite, for while they were black and around the same size, crows didn't have such sharp beaks, caked with carrion. Or such eerily intelligent eyes. And the cry of a crow, while not exactly beautiful, certainly didn't sound like the moans of an old man, dying slowly.

It was around this time that Rose decided she didn't really want to meet the Crebain any closer. She frantically threw herself to the ground, rolling quickly under a shrub and into a crevice.

And into another body.

Even as her heart jumped into her throat in terror, the body let out a small, pained cough. "Rose. This pothole is occupied. Your elbow is in my diaphram."

It was the Doctor, and she sighed in relief and started to crawl back out. To her surprise, the Doctor wrapped a firm arm around her waist and held her against him. "_Wait_," he hissed. In a moment, the Crebain had descended.

The noise was almost overwhelming, a symphony of screams and squawks. Every now and then a pair of clawed feet would touch the ground, only to alight a few moments later. Rose and the Doctor huddled closer, the former shaking in disgust.

It only lasted a moment, but the wave of flapping wings and the overwhelming stench of rotting meat made Rose's gut curdle. However, even as her stomach flipped one way, it flipped the other as she noticed how _close_ the Doctor was and how her head was resting in the curve of his shoulder.

With one last croak the Crebain was gone, and a few moments later the Fellowship crawled out from their hiding place. "Spies of Saruman…" Gandalf muttered, and began discussing a new path to Mordor. The Doctor wasn't listening; his expression was horrified, and after a moment Rose realized why.

She had dropped his coat on the ground when she rolled, and the Crebain had gotten to it. The coat itself seemed fine; only a few scratches. Its contents were a different story.

What had started as reading glasses were now nothing more than twisted wire and broken glass. Torn paper was everywhere, and a bag of jelly babies had burst and skittered over the rocks. But it was one specific thing that the Doctor was bent over, and it was one thing that made Rose's stomach drop to her shoes in worry and guilt.

The sonic screwdriver was broken, almost completely in half.

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**A/N: Kind of short, but it seemed like a good place to stop. Please leave a review letting me know what you think.**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: This chapter was completely erased. I had to retype it completely. I hope you appreciate what I do for you people, just because you've all been so nice to me about this story. Thanks for all the love and support.**

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Rose felt cold in every sense of the word.

The visit from the Crebain had unsettled everyone, and Gandalf had urged them on as soon as the last of the flock had faded from the horizon. He had led the way up a winding path, muttering darkly about spies when he thought no one was listening. The time for cheerful denial seemed to be officially over, and a sour mood had stolen over the group. The weather wasn't helping.

Gone was the cracked dirt and scraggly weeds; all that surrounded them was permafrost, the surface of the ground scarred by a constant, icy wind that pushed against them. The temperature was steadily dropping by the hour. Every inch of Rose's skin was prickling from the cold. She had gotten by for an hour or so by rubbing her arms and hands constantly, but her skin was now so cold that even pressing her fingertips together elicited shooting pain. The rest of the Fellowship wasn't faring much better.

A stoic Legolas led the group, being the only one not slipping on the ice and still standing straight against the wind. Behind him trudged Gandalf, supporting himself on his staff. Aragorn and Boromir, arms crossed tightly and heads hunched, followed close behind. At the end of the line was Gimli, tramping morosely and droning lowly against the wind that this would all end in tears. The Hobbits seemed to be faring the worst out of all of them. Their curly hair had been matted by the wind, and their eyes were watering from strong gusts that threatened to knock them over. They winced with every step, bare feet burning from the ice slicks and the tips of their toes beginning to turn blue.

However, it was the final member of the group that had Rose the most worried. The Doctor's hair, already messy, had been buffeted until he looked like he had just stuck a finger in an electrical socket. His cheeks were chapped from the wind, and his hands were shoved deep into the pockets of his overcoat. His face was what concerned her the most, specifically the expression he had worn since that afternoon.

Gone were the casual half-smile and the laugh lines. Every inch of the Doctor's face was taut and stressed, and his jaw was firmly clenched. Rose could only be grateful that he walked ahead of her, as even the laments of the dwarf behind her were better than seeing the broken expression her Doctor wore.

Guilt had never throttled her like it did now. A lump filled her throat, refusing to disappear despite how hard she swallowed. Every time she shut her eyes against the wind, the same scene mocked her from behind closed eyelids: the Doctors coat dropping to the ground, slipping from her numb fingers. The sonic screwdriver, broken cleanly in two. The soundtrack of this little vision mocked her, replaying on a cruel loop that words the Doctor had said to her:

_Hold this, and be careful._

_Be careful._

Those damn birds. That damn coat. Every scratch, every pockmark, every scuff and nick the birds had given it scorned her. They were arrows to her heart.

_Be careful. Be careful._

_Well done, Rose, _a small voice sneered inside her head. _You had one job, and you bolted. Like a coward. Like a child._

So wrapped up was she in her own downward spiral that she neglected to notice the rest of the party slowing down. She bumped heavily into the Doctor's back, and the two stumbled. "Sorry, sorry," she said hurriedly. The Doctor's left hand slipped out of his pocket to catch his balance, and for a split second Rose caught a glimpse of his clenched fist. And of the small bit of silvery-blue metal poking out of the edge of it.

The Doctor's eyes met hers and he shoved his fist back into his left pocket; Rose had no doubts as to what he was holding onto in the right one. Two halves split apart. Because of her.

"We shall rest here for the night," Gandalf called over the wind, pointing towards a nearby bluff. The side was cleft by a thin crack, which they saw opened up to a small cave as they got closer.

For a short moment there was nothing but the sound of relieved sighs as the Fellowship collapsed onto the floor of the cave. Boromir and Aragorn finally let their shoulders slump. Legolas cracked his neck with a quick jerk. Pippin's head dropping directly onto Merry's shoulder, and within seconds he started to snore softly. Rose couldn't help but grin at the sight, and turned to the Doctor in hopes he had seen. His gaze, however, was not on them but rather outside, blank eyes watching ice shift on the ground as wind carved patterns into it. His elbows twitched as his fists clenched in his pockets.

"One of us must keep watch," Aragorn finally sighed from the floor. There was a short pause, until the Doctor crossed the floor and settled near the entrance, facing out. Aragorn nodded, seemingly unfazed by the brusqueness of the act. "Very well. The Doctor will take first watch, and I will relieve him in-"

"Not necessary," the Doctor finally said. His voice was hoarse, and he didn't turn around. Rose flinched.

Aragorn tried to smile, but his exhaustion made it look more like a grimace. "There's no need for pride. We all need to rest. We-"

"I don't sleep." The statement was said with the same casualty if he was commenting on the weather, but there was a note of challenge in it. A sharpness that hadn't been there before, that made every open eye in the room focus on the Doctor's turned back.

No one seemed sure as to how to respond. The room was silent, save for the howling wind outside. Then, almost imperceptibly, a small snort of derision echoed from the back of the cave.

The Doctor spun sharply, and the look on his face made Rose lean backwards. He reminded her of a time when she had walked home and was cornered by a stray dog. There was a feral edge to his expression; a sense of barely-restrained wrath. Like he was about to rip out someone's throat.

"Don't mock me," he snapped, voice colder than the air outside. And then, with an air of chilling finality: "I. Don't. _Sleep_."

Rose felt sick for the second time that day, as the level of tension in the room became palpable. She had seen the Doctor like this before. She had seen him be threatening, had seen him terrify an entire room. But she had never believed he would ever aim it at _her_.

"In that case," Gandalf said calmly, "the rest of us better sleep while we can. The road is long yet, and Caradhras' treachery has yet to make its appearance. We will need our wits about us tomorrow."

The rest of the short evening was spent choking down cold provisions ("I'm _hungry_, Merry…"), stretching out, and attempting to fall asleep to the screams of the wind. Rose rolled over, convinced she could never fall asleep with guilt eating away at her growling stomach, with rocks digging into her back, with the shrieks of the Crebain still echoing in her ears.

She was slumbering in seconds, dreaming of her bed in the TARDIS and the laugh of the Doctor.

* * *

It was astounding how he had managed to fool himself.

The Doctor had thought he would never again feel whole. Not after the skies began to burn. Not after so many possibilities had been extinguished. Not after his family had scorched under radioactive clouds, dead and gone in three seconds with barely enough time to register that they were burning.

He spent days, weeks, huddled in the TARDIS. Not eating. Not sleeping. It was only after he passed out from exhaustion and the TARDIS started making the kitchen show up all the time that he saw himself again. And regeneration was a cruel bitch.

Every new drooping line, every wrinkle, every sag of this craggy new profile screamed grief. Even smiling made him look sad around the edges. He knew why; it was because he was empty. Drained, of everything. Love. Hope. Tears, especially tears.

But then Rose came along. Rose, in a shop full of living dummies. Rose, who ran with him, who teased him, who gave him looks that made him wish he could feel the same fire he did as a young man. And with her, he felt a tiny drop come back in him. A small drop of water in a dry pond, barely wetting the surface.

Then came Charles Dickens. Little boys in gas masks. Mickey and Jackie, bless and damn them. Rose's father. Captain Jack _bloody_ Harkness. Even a new face, a jaunty, smiling one. And with every one of them, the pond began to refill. Drop by drop, liter by liter, gallon by gallon. An entire pond, almost up to the brim.

Except it hadn't. He saw that now. He had fooled himself, all along.

The screwdriver shattering, breaking one of the last relics of a dead planet that he had, had shown him what it was all along: ice. A thin layer of ice, spreading over the surface of the pond as a facsimile of wholeness once again. And he had been walking, this entire time, on thin ice. Walking? No, he'd been _running_.

It shattered; of course it did. And now, here he was again. Falling into a void of emptiness that had been there all along, just waiting for something to break the surface.

"Mind if I join you?"

The Doctor jumped, head spinning to find a grinning Gandalf standing right behind him. Embarrassed at being caught so off-guard, he shook his head and looked back outside. The wind had picked up, somehow.

The old wizard settled in next to him. There was a moment of silence, until the wizard spoke quietly.

"May I be frank with you?"

"Sure, Frank. But only if I can still be the Doctor." The quip rolled off his tongue before he could stop it, and he nearly slapped himself. Was that who he was, now? A smart-ass? That could be interesting.

Gandalf, luckily, got the joke. He chuckled to himself for a moment, pulling out a pipe and lighting it with a twitch of his fingers. "I am well aware that you are not a man, Doctor," he said casually. "That you are not of Middle-Earth, nor any other for that matter." The Doctor was speechless for a moment, and Gandalf raised a hand. "Rest assured, your secret is safe with me. This is something you must share with the others when you believe the time is right."

For a split second, he considered denying it. But then: "Rose knows."

Gandalf got a strange expression on his face as he puffed at his pipe. "Of course."

"And Merry and Pippin. She told them." The Doctor rubbed at his face. "I don't know why."

"Oh, I believe those two would take anything she tells them to their graves," Gandalf chuckled. "The Doctor wasn't sure what he meant, but he kept silent. There was another pause.

"How did you know?" The Doctor said it in a whisper, not wanting to break the sudden feeling of calm around them. The smoke from Gandalf's pipe was curling into his lungs, spicy-sweet and strangely calming.

Gandalf considered the question, puffing out a few smoke rings. "Your eyes, I suppose."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "My eyes?"

"The way you looked at us. The hurt, the pain, the knowledge in them. The suffering. Something that could only be gained through hundreds of years of life." Gandalf let that hang in the air for a while. "No man in Middle-Earth lives as long."

"You have," the Doctor pointed out.

"Ah, but I am not a man either. I am a wizard."

The Doctor digested this for a moment. "How old _are_ you?"

"Two-thousand and twenty years," the wizard said smoothly. "And you?"

The Doctor thought for a bit. "Around nine hundred." At the look on Gandalf's face, he sheepishly added, "I've lost track."

Gandalf smiled faintly. "In our own way, we are remarkably well-preserved." The Doctor chuckled. "I have heard many say they wish for immortality," the wizard continued softly. "To live forever. I don't believe they appreciate the less savory aspects of the process."

The Doctor felt the emptiness creeping up again, and grasped at a desperate straw. "Gandalf… are you the only wizard in Middle-Earth?" The wizard shook his head, and the Doctor felt his spirit plummet. "Oh. I only ask because…"

"You are the last." It wasn't a question.

"The last of the Time Lords," the Doctor said softly. "Alone. Forever."

"Time Lords," Gandalf repeated, rolling the word around in his mouth. He seemed to consider it, puffing at his pipe. Then: "I never got a chance to properly thank you." The Doctor raised an eyebrow, and Gandalf grinned at his confusion. "For helping Frodo."

The Doctor shook his head, confused at the direction the conversation had taken. "I didn't. If you want someone to thank, talk to her." He jerked his head towards where he knew Rose was lying, not bothering to turn around. "Credit where credit is due."

Gandalf turned to look at the sleeping Rose. "Quite a remarkable girl."

The Doctor smiled before he realized he was. "You have no idea."

Gandalf raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The Doctor nodded slightly. Sensing that Gandalf wanted him to continue, he did. "Strong, more so than she thinks. Funny. Good-humored. And brilliant. More than a human should rightly be. She's seen things no one else has seen- some no one else should."

Gandalf smiled faintly. "Forgive me for saying so, Doctor, but it seems to me that you are not as alone as you believe."

There was the longest silence yet.

"May I make a small suggestion?" Gandalf asked. The Doctor nodded mutely. "Try to sleep. It will put our comrade's minds at ease if they awaken to find you asleep."

The Doctor said nothing, and after a long moment he stood and walked farther into the cave. Gandalf leaned against the wall, listening carefully.

"Rose."

"…"

"_Rose_. Move over."

"Mn… Doctor? Wha…"

"Move over. It's freezing."

"Oh, Doctor, I'm… so sorry. I'm so, so sorry. I-"

"Shh. Don't wake the dwarf. It's alright. It's _alright_. I can fix it when we get back to the TARDIS."

"…_When_ we get back?"

"Yes. _When._"

There was a long silence, and Gandalf risked looking behind him. The Doctor and Rose were side-by-side, asleep, his coat spread over the two of them. Gandalf turned back around.

Outside, it began to snow.

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**A/N: Read/ Review please.**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: There were a few glitches in posting this, due to FF insisting there were 10 chapters, all of a sudden. Also, the title and summary has changed, due to the previous ones... kind of sucking.**

** I just looked at the Story Stats for this; I consider it a personal accomplishment to have viewers from everywhere from The USA to Germany to Slovenia. So to all of you: thank you, danke, and hvala for following, favoriting, and especially reviewing. Incidentally, feel free to leave your country in the reviews. I'm curious now…**

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"Merry."

Merry didn't answer. He tried to ignore him.

"_Merry."_

"What?" He tried not to snap, but the word came out more savagely than he meant it to. Pippin was taken aback for a moment, but resumed his efforts.

"I'm hungry, Merry."

"I know, Pip. Me, too." Of course he knew. How could he not, what with his younger cousin _telling_ him all the time?

"I know," Pippin responded quietly, continuing to trudge. There was a small moment of silence. "How much longer do you think-"

"Y'know what, Pip?" Merry snapped. "Walk in front of me."

Pippin blinked at him, hurrying in front after a moment and continuing to trudge.

Merry sighed. He didn't want to be angry. He really didn't.

This mountain was ruining him. It was ruining everything.

* * *

_Keep walking, little Baggins. Walk on. Your quest is pointless. Pointless._

Frodo shook his head hard. The Voice had gotten louder since they had started up the mountain. It used to just whisper at him; now, it was like a person was hanging on his back, constantly talking into his ear.

_Yes, follow the old wizard. He leads you to certain death. He is blind to all but his own path. You are all blind._

Frodo's eyes flicked up to Gandalf before he could stop himself. The wizard was bent, pushing against the wind as he trudged. Did he know where he was going?

Frodo mentally shook himself. Of _course_, Gandalf knew where he was going. He wouldn't do what he didn't think was right. What was he thinking?

The Voice laughed, with no mirth. _That's right, little Baggins. The veil is dropping off your eyes. _

_Oh, hush, _Frodo snapped back, folding his arms and doubling his pace. The sooner they got off this mountain, the better.

* * *

"Sam!"

Sam's eyelids snapped open, cold wind instantly making them water in pain. He squeezed them shut once again, allowing one small sliver to remain open. "I'm alright, Mister Frodo," he shouted against the wind. "I'm alright."

Ahead of the two was the rest of their party. At least, one could assume they were there. Nothing was visible beyond ten feet, cloaked in a thick curtain of thick- and fast-falling snow. Actually, "falling" seemed to be the wrong word. The snow was _barreling_ towards the ground, pounding into the heads and shoulders of the Fellowship with an almost malevolent strength. Around them, drifts of downy flake had become a wall of ice that had to be pushed aside with every step.

Frodo was looking at him with a concerned expression, eyes narrowed to slits against the wind. His master's hair was plastered, soaking wet, to his head and was beginning to freeze. The skin on his face was beginning to turn blue. "Come on," he shouted as loud as he could. The howling of the wind ripped the words from his mouth. Sam nodded, wrapping his cloak further around himself and stumbling after his master up the mountain.

Trying to keep an eye on the group ahead of him, Sam soon gave up; the whiteness of the snow hurt his eyes. Instead he looked down at his feet, watching them trudge up the mountain. Walking had become an unconscious action. Right, left, right left, over and over again. His feet had long since lost feeling. He tried to think of something else- anything else- than the cold.

It would be cold in the Shire, too. Snow would drift down from the sky in fat, lazy flakes that curled up affectionately on shoulders and heads. The Green Dragon would have a roaring fire, pints slamming into the bar-top with gusto and drinks sloshing onto the floor. And a drinking song, curling through the air. He could almost taste the beer…

"_Sam."_

His eyes had closed again, and he forced them open. "M'sorry, Mister Frodo," he managed to croak. His mater nodded, teeth chattering too hard to respond.

Sam continued to trudge, a song echoing through his head.

_You can drink your fancy ales, you can drink them by the flagon,_

_But the only brew for the brave and true comes from the Green Dragon…_

* * *

"I _can't_, Merry."

"Yes, you _can_," Merry said savagely, shoving his cousin. "You have to keep moving."

Pippin staggered on for a moment, but stopped once again and bent over. Merry bumped into him. "I can't, Merry. I'm _tired_."

Merry tried to breathe. Tried to be rational. But something in him snapped, and he grabbed Pippin by the shoulders and spun him around.

"Listen, _Peregrin_." He couldn't ever remember calling Pippin by his full name. "We're _all_ tired. And hungry. And cold. What gives _you_ the right to whine like a child? You're already the youngest one here, you fool. Don't keep acting like the weakest. _Keep. Walking."_

And then, Peregrin turned back into Pippin. Into his little cousin, Pip. Who was currently looking at the only person who had never called him a fool, who had stuck up for him since they were children.

And he looked broken. Pippin pushed him off, straggling back up the mountain.

Merry felt something else shatter in his chest. Something more painful.

* * *

It was another hour, another five miles, before Sam's legs gave out.

Stider's arm was tight against his chest, cold as an iron bar and just as strong. His feet dangled uselessly above the ground.

He was so _cold_.

He opened his eyes.

Frodo's face was blue. His lips were puffy. Eyes closed. One hand wrapped tight around Strider's arm. The other clenched around Sam's upper arm. He couldn't feel it, and had a dull feeling that that was bad.

He closed his eyes.

So _cold_…

* * *

Sam's eyes were closed, and his lips were moving. Frodo couldn't hear him saying anything.

_Look what you've done to your friends, RingBearer. They're dying because of you. Your fault. Your fault._

Frodo winced visibly. If Aragorn noticed, he said nothing.

_Turn back, RingBearer. Follow the dwarf, instead of that old fool. What is wrong? Are you not brave enough to find what lies underground? _

He didn't know what the Voice was saying anymore. Didn't know what it meant.

Didn't like how it was starting to sound more and more like his own voice.

Maybe at this point, it _was_ his voice. Either way, it was right.

They couldn't last much longer.

* * *

Sam didn't know how much later it was when he woke up. He didn't remember falling asleep, but he wished he had stayed that way. The air was colder. His joints were screaming. His ears felt like icicles.

Strider was yelling.

"_Gandalf! We must turn back!"_

Turn back. Yes, turn back. Turn around and walk down the mountain. Walk out of this place. Walk back to the Shire. Walk home.

Sounded like a lot of walking.

Maybe just drop. Fall down. Fall asleep, here, on this mountain. Sleep, forever, in this blanket of snow.

Just sleep, fall asleep as the mountain started to shake…

* * *

"Pippin!" Where was Pippin? Where was_ he_? Where was _anyone_?

All he could see was white. And that terrible rumbling noise was gone. But so was everyone else.

Was he alone? All alone, on this mountain? Would he die here?

No. Someone grabbed him under the arms and pulled him out of the snow.

"It's alright, little one." Boromir wrapped an arm around him, brushing him off with the other. Merry coughed, blinking against the wind.

"Pip…" he croaked. His stomach plummeted. Pippin was gone. And the last thing he had done was call him a fool. What had he done? Merry felt tears drop down his face, freezing instantly. Boromir was digging in the snow.

And then, there was Pippin, being held up by the scruff of his neck like a kitten, coughing and shivering. Boromir tucked him into his chest. Merry grabbed him into a hug.

"Oh, Pip. I'm so sorry, Pip. Please. I was so afraid-"

"It's okay, Mer. I understand," Pippin whispered, hugging him fiercely.

There was a silence. Boromir dug himself out of the snow, holding the Hobbits in one arm. They continued to cling to each other. Pippin hiccoughed.

"I want to go home, Merry."

"Me, too, Pip."

* * *

Head hurt. Why did his…?

Oh. _Oh._

Sam was upside down. Something had knocked him off the mountain. His stomach gave a lurch, and if there had been anything in it, it would have been out.

"_Hold on, Sam! Hold on!"_

Hold on? To what? His hands dangled over his head, hanging into open air. There was something tugging his ankle, yanking him upwards painfully.

Did he even want to hang on anymore?

Snow was everywhere, rushing past him and off the mountain. It looked like a waterfall from where he was. Except colder.

He could hear his pulse in his ears. Like a drum. A nice change from the wind.

He didn't want to hang on.

* * *

They were all looking at him. Gandalf. Gimli. Expectant of Frodo. Wanting him to choose.

What should he do?

Sam was in the clutches of the Doctor. He had almost fallen off the mountain, the Doctor grabbing his ankle as he went by. Would they be so lucky next time?

_No. Gandalf is a fool. Follow the dwarf._

_Follow the dwarf._

"We shall take the mines," he heard himself say.

The troupe turned around. Listening to him. Blind.

Frodo didn't look at Gandalf. He couldn't bear to see the disappointment.

* * *

And then, he was in someone's arms again. Strider?

"Don't worry, Sam; we're going back down. Your master has made an executive decision. And just in time, too."

Oh, no. Sam groaned. "Not _you_," he slurred.

The Doctor chuckled. "You ought to be more considerate, Master Gamgee. I saved your life, after all."

That took a while to register. "M' life?" His eyes were closed, but he could feel them moving. Moving the opposite direction as before.

"That's right. Avalanche knocked you off the mountain. Right out of Aragorn's hands. I'm sure he's kicking himself for it. I caught your ankle." There was a short pause. "You're welcome."

Sam could still hear his heart pounding in his ears. _TH-THUMP. TH-THUMP._ It was speeding up.

He had been hanging off a mountain. He could've… he could've _died_. "I could've _died_."

"Well… yes. But you didn't."

He could have _died. _And he had _wanted_ to.

_He had wanted to._ What was _wrong_ with him? What sort of coward was he? What-

"Sam, calm down. _Calm down_." He felt the Doctor shake him slightly in his arms. "It's the adrenaline. Just breathe."

Sam struggled to take a breath. His heart was beating like a bird, fluttering against his chest.

"Sam," the Doctor said softly to him, words somehow reaching him despite the howling wind. "Why don't you tell me about the Shire?"

Even with his frozen cheeks, Sam scowled. "D-don't poke fun at me."

"I'm not. Tell me." The Doctor sounded sincere. "Is it warm there?"

Sam was silent for a second. "Yes," he murmured eventually. "In the summers."

"Good," the Doctor urged on. Sam could feel him struggling to move, pushing hard against the drifts. "Tell me about the summers."

Sam swallowed thickly. "The grass gets longer. Harder to cut. The flowers grow tall, and the apples bake in the trees sometimes, it's so hot. So we'd go in the river. And at night, the fireflies would come out. We chased them when we were children. Kept them in jars." His chest tugged, almost painful with the memory. "It looked like stars… fallen stars."

He could hear the Doctor's smile in his voice. "It's been a long while since I've seen fireflies."

Sam shifted slightly, curling into the Doctor's chest a bit more. "Don't you have fireflies back home?"

The Doctor was silent for a while. He spoke carefully. "No. Never. Although… we had these trees…"

Sam yawned. His heartbeat was gone from his ears. "Trees?"

"Beautiful trees," the Doctor told him. "Silver leaves and grey trunks. The leaves would tap each other when the wind blew, and it sounded like bells. In the sun, the whole forest was lit up. Like it was on fire. And at night…" The Doctor's chest rose and fell with a sigh. "Dew would gather on the branches, and drip off the tips of the leaves. Looked like liquid moonlight."

Sam smiled drowsily. "Tell me more."

The Doctor chuckled. "The grass was dark red, soft on your skin. And the deserts, too. The whole place was like the Serengeti, all year round."

"Serengeti?"

"Oh… er… never mind. But the sky was dark blue, purple at night. The light from the moons would wash over the cities..."

Sam didn't bother to listen any further. He let himself slip off to sleep.

And he must have been very tired, because he could have sworn he heard two heartbeats in the Doctor's chest.

Yes, very tired indeed.


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: This is my favorite chapter so far- very fun to write. I'm not one to beg for reviews, but… let's try to hit 100 guys. It would be a huge accomplishment for me. Thanks for all the support.**

**6/1/13: Thank you to The Joker 15 for pointing out a plot hole in the last chapter; the ending of Chapter 10 has since been altered accordingly. Thank you and keep reading and reviewing.**

**-Esa**

* * *

"Are you alright, Sam?" Frodo whispered to his companion, picking his way over a particularly treacherous section of rocks. Sam nodded, looking down to avoid tripping.

"Fine, Mister Frodo," he murmured, casting another glance behind him at the Doctor. A troubled expression was on his face, and he looked away as soon as the Doctor met his eye. The Doctor shook his head slightly.

"That is one troubled Hobbit," he murmured in Rose's ear, gripping her fingers to help her over a boulder. "I actually feel for the little fellow. Homesickness is a deadly disease, Rose. After all, there have been empires toppled because one man missed the way things used to be."

Rose felt a small blush creep up her neck as the Doctor grabbed her hand, and ducked to avoid his gaze. "How did you manage to keep him calm, Doctor?" she wondered aloud. "I don't think I could have been that calm if I had just fallen off a mountain."

The Doctor shrugged, winking at her. "I find this version of me to be rather persuasive."

_So do I._ But of course, she couldn't say that out loud.

"It wasn't really that hard," he continued casually, skipping over gaps like a mountain goat. "I simply took his mind off the experience. Gave him something else to think about. I've always been a good distraction."

Rose pondered this for a minute. "Doctor… I think you should tell them."

He gave her a shifty look. "Tell them what?"

Rose pushed him slightly. "You know what. I think it would be alright. In any case, it would keep Boromir from giving you those_ looks_ all the time."

The Doctor smirked, unseen by her. "Whatever do you mean?"

"You know," she said with an identical smirk. "The ones that look like he's afraid you're about to tear out our throats with your bare teeth."

"Oh, those looks," the Doctor said airily. "Yes… he looks a bit like an angry schoolmarm when he does that, doesn't he?"

Rose had to bite her teeth to keep herself from laughing. "He does not!"

"_Oh, Doctor, you wicked boy,"_ the Doctor said in a falsetto. _"You're from another region of time and space __and_ _you drew naughty pictures on Deborah's schoolwork? That's twelve strikes of the cane for you!"_

Rose couldn't help it- she giggled. "Stop it!"

"_What do you mean you didn't memorize your spelling last night? Next thing, you'll tell me you're an alien!"_

"Doctor!" she playfully shoved him, laughing in earnest. In front of them, Aragorn turned around and gave them a stern look- though both could see the ghost of a smile on his face. He motioned for them to keep silent, turning back around after a moment. She leaned back in to talk to her Doctor, quieter this time.

"In all seriousness- you should tell them. I've told Merry and Pippin, and they treat you just the same."

"Oh, quite right," he said sarcastically. "Except the looks of absolute awe and terror every time I talk to them."

Rose shook her head. "They just don't know how to react to you. They look at Legolas the same way."

"And that's just the problem, Rose," he said softly. "No one here knows how to react to anything they don't know. They can readily accept what they do, be it as unbelievable as we could imagine. Magic? Fine. Mystical creatures? Fine. But spacemen from other planets?" He shook his head cheerfully, but she could see the sadness in it. "They'd shoot me full of arrows before we could say 'TARDIS.'"

"But Doctor," Rose said quietly, looking up at him and not at her feet. "I think you could manage them knowing. I mean, don't you remember when you told me? I had a hard time at first, but I came around. Anyone else would, too."

At that moment, the edge of Rose's show caught on a rock and she fell forward. Without missing a beat, the Doctor hooked one arm under her waist and the other gripped her upper arm. He pulled her back upright, not letting go of her and looking at her with a twinkle in his eye.

"Ah, but Rose Tyler," he said softly. "You're not just anyone else, are you?"

She swallowed hard. The man was right. He _was_ persuasive. But she wouldn't be swayed. Reluctantly, she pulled herself away from him. "One more week to tell them," she said. "Or I will."

* * *

"_Edro n'ala amin…"_ Gandalf intoned, waving his fingers in a crooked square. He looked to the Gates of Moria expectantly, but they remained closed.

Gandalf frowned, but closed his eyes and tried again._ "Lle lava?" _he asked the doors in a lofty tone.

Nothing.

"_Mae govannen!"_

Nothing.

"_Oio naa elealla alasse!"_

Not one stone shifted. The Doctor leaned down to whisper in Rose's ear. "Has he already tried 'open sesame'?" She snorted and Boromir gave the two of them a look of death from where he sat, sharpening his sword.

"If you wouldn't mind," he said coolly, and the two wandered away reluctantly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered to her. "That was my fault. I forgot to clap the erasers this morning."

She smiled, slipping slightly on the wet gravel near the shore of the pond. The Fellowship was in disarray, spread out as Gandalf attempted to remember the code to enter the mines. She didn't like it here. Everything was slippery, clammy and black. Like a cave had been turned inside out. A feeling of dampness clung to her skin, making her cheeks cold and her hair limp.

"The sooner we get inside, the better," she told him as the made themselves as comfortable as they could on a couple of rocks. "It's like the beginning of a horror film out here."

"Oh, yes," the Doctor mused. "Gimli won't let go of those caves. He's been going on and on about the great marble hall, the cold malt beer… his cousin's hospitality is, apparently, legendary."

Rose nodded, and the two smiled at each other.

* * *

An hour passed. No progress was made on the doors. And the group was starting to get jumpy. Pippin and Merry, especially. That is, until the Doctor had taught them a new game.

"Are you a man or a woman?" Rose asked Merry, tracing a circle in the dirt next to her.

The Hobbit tilted his head at her. "Man, of course."

"No, Merry," she reminded him again. "You're answering these questions as the person you picked."

"Oh," he said, blushing slightly and nodding. "Right. Er… man."

The Doctor tilted his head back and blew a puff of air out loudly. "Alright… long or short hair?"

"Well… short."

Pippin kicked at a rock, sending it jumping into the lake. "Are you a man, dwarf, Hobbit, or elf?" None of them noticed a ripple appear on the surface of the water a few yards away.

"Hobbit," Merry said. Pippin's eyes widened.

"Are you _me_?" he asked eagerly. Merry shook his head. "Frodo? Sam?" Merry shook his head, and the Doctor sat up.

"Pippin- one question per person." Pippin nodded, but didn't seem embarrassed. He looked thoughtful. Rose's turn was next, and she considered her question.

"Alright," she mused. "Are you… um…"

Pippin's finger shot into Merry's face. "I know! You're _you_! _You picked yourself_!" Merry rolled his eyes and nodded, and Pippin burst into laughter. "Mer! You can't pick yourself! That's cheating!"

"Is not!" Merry protested. "No one said you couldn't pick yourself!"

"To be fair, we never said that," Rose said, silencing the two. "But the answer to Celebrity is usually someone that all of us would know. Like… um…" She faltered for a moment, and the Doctor let out a snort. She glared at him. "Well, what? It wouldn't be Princess Di, would it?"

"But you all know me!" Merry said irritably. "Pippin knows me, you know me, and the Doctor knows me. So what's the problem?"

"There isn't one," the Doctor said waspishly. "Pippin wins, and let's move on."

"I don't want to play if Merry is cheating," Pippin said petulantly.

"Fine, then don't play! Doesn't make a difference to me." the Doctor snapped, getting up quickly and walking away, hands shoved deep in the pockets of his coat. Rose gave the Hobbits a short apology, hurrying after the Doctor who was setting off towards the lake.

"That was really rude," she told him in a rough whisper, pulling his sleeve to get him to stop. "What's wrong with you?"

The Doctor stopped and turned her with him towards the lake, so no one could see them speaking. "Answer a question for me, Rose," he told her softly, and she could hear the tension in his voice. "You heard Gimli speaking of his cousin Dwalin-"

"Balin," she corrected.

"Same thing. Speaking of his food and beer, of his palace, of his _limitless_ hospitality." Rose nodded, and he turned to look at her. "If Mawlin-"

"Balin."

"If _Balin_ is in there, if his hospitality really is limitless… _why_ would he allow his cousin and guests to wait outside the gates for an hour?"

Rose felt her stomach ice over. "You think something's wrong?"

"I don't know, and not a word to Gimli," he said quickly. After a pause, he murmured. "But I have a bad feeling. A very bad feeling."

* * *

Another thirty minutes went by before the Doctor took a look at the gates.

"And it says…?" he trailed off. Gandalf spoke tiredly from his perch near a dead tree.

"_Speak, friend, and enter."_

"Well, that's ridiculous," the Doctor said decidedly, and all eyes turned to him. Behind them, a few more ripples appeared in the water.

"Grammatically, it makes no sense. Shouldn't it be, _Friend, speak, and enter?" _He mused aloud for a few moments. "_Speak, _friend, and enter. Speak _friend, _and enter. Speak, friend, and _enter._" After a long pause, he shook his head and walked away. "Hopeless. Hopeless, hopeless, totally hopeless."

But Frodo stood up, a new light in his eyes. "But, wait… it's not! Speak _friend_, and enter! Gandalf, what's the elfish word for friend?"

Gandalf looked up at him. _"Mellon,"_ he said slowly, and the shining doors cracked open with a groan. There was a loud cheer from behind them, and Merry and Pippin fell upon Frodo with cries of happiness. And for once in the journey, Frodo smiled. Rose sidled over and whispered in the Doctor's ear.

"You knew, didn't you?" she whispered with a chiding grin. "You knew right when you read it."

The Doctor shrugged. "I don't know what you mean. But Frodo certainly looks happy, don't you think?"

They shared a smile, as the Fellowship regrouped and walked into the cave.

And into horror.

The Doctor had been right, of course. Wasn't he always? Not that Rose would ever tell him that. And in that moment- with the bones everywhere, with the anguished cries of Gimli echoing around the cave- well, it hardly seemed appropriate.

"Goblins," was the cry, and they set off out of the cave.

Out of one hell, and into another.

Rose didn't know what she registered first- the screams from the Hobbits, her hand slipping from the Doctor's, or the horrible, wet feeling of the tentacle wrapping around her ankle. Suddenly, she was airborne. Water was everywhere. She was flailing, screaming, desperate to escape.

Where was the Doctor? Where was he?

Why had he let her go?

* * *

The Doctor was never one for violence. At least, he hadn't been before all of this, before this new, lanky body. But now? After watching Rose yanked into the air like a marionette with its strings pulled at once? Now, all he wanted to do was rip that overgrown sea monkey limb from limb from limb.

"Cut them loose!" Aragorn roared at him, throwing him a knife. A_ knife_, what was he supposed to do with that? Compared to this leviathan, that was like trying to stop a charging bull with a handkerchief and a smile.

No, he couldn't give in to violence. That wouldn't accomplish anything. Democracy would have to carry the day. He'd always been good at democracy. And so, dropping the knife, the Doctor closed his eyes listened.

There were the shrieks and screams of Rose and the Hobbits. The low yells of the men behind him. The almost-silent grunts as Legolas drew his bow. The incomprehensible sobs and shouts of Gimli, battling both grief and an attacker, poor man.

And underneath it all… _there_…

"_OUT! OUT OF MY HOME! MY HOME! NASTY INVADERS! OUT!"_

Eyes still closed, the Doctor tilted his head. It was a complex language- all vowels and guttural sounds, as these sorts of species were wont to be. Almost like a mixture of Helioant and Omnimantises- though, thankfully, without the spitting. He could figure it out- it was like Portuguese to Spanish. Just adjust for accent and province and-

He opened his eyes. _"Hello."_

Everything stopped moving. Tentacles froze in midair, dangling its prisoners into the open. All went silent at this unexpected event, and the Leviathan's beady eyes blinked and focused on the Doctor.

"_YOU SPEAK?"_ it asked him. _He_, he realized. It was a "he". Rather young. Territorial.

"_Yes. I speak,"_ the Doctor said slowly, wrapping his tongue around the odd noises. _"But slow. Why you hurt them?" _Next to him, Boromir and Aragorn were staring incredulously. Gandalf said nothing, but started to smile.

The Leviathan squelched in irritation. _"BAD INVADERS. DROVE ME OUT OF MY HOME, UNDER THE DEEP-DARK. THROW ROCKS. THROW STICKS. HURT ME. DESTROY THEM."_

"_No, no, no,"_ the Doctor interrupted. _"Not invaders. Travelers. We go…"_ He didn't know the words and simply gestured behind him. _"Who hurt?"_

The Leviathan blinked and said something the Doctor didn't understand.

"_Again."_ The Leviathan blinked, and repeated the phrase. The Doctor considered it, and held up his hands. _"Wait."_ He turned to the men behind him. "Our friend here believes us to be attackers. He says he was hurt before by another group passing by, and driven out from under the mountain. He keeps saying something like 'smell-bads.' Any ideas?"

Boromir simply gaped at him. "You… you can understand it? But it only shrieks."

The Doctor tried to stop himself from gloating. "I speak almost every language. Bill the Pony, for example, was an excellent conversationalist. This fine gentleman's language is a stretch, but not impossible."

"In that case, can he put us down?" Merry called down at the Doctor, brushing wet hair from his eyes. The rest of the Hobbits and Rose nodded, the latter trying hard not to laugh.

"_Please… put down little men. And also…" _The Doctor paused, trying to remember the word for 'woman.' _"Put down…"_

"_MATE?"_ The Leviathan rumbled.

The Doctor paled. "_No! No, no. Not... _er…"

"_MATE,"_ the Leviathan repeated, waving Rose about a bit. _"SHE IS YOUR MATE."_

"Doctor?!" Rose called, a little breathless.

"No worries, Rose," he called, blushing. "We were just talking about you."

"Only good things I hope," she said airily, but he could hear the nerves shaking her voice. He grinned and shrugged.

"_Yes. She is mate. Put mate down. Put all down. Please." _The Leviathan gurgled an apology and placed the Hobbits and Rose down gently. They shook themselves off, shivering from the water. Pippin walked up to the Doctor, smiling and dazed.

"Can you _really_ understand him? What's his name?"

"_Name?"_

"_I AM WATCHER."_

"He's called the Watcher," the Doctor said. "He's telling me he was attacked earlier. By-"

"Goblins," Legolas interjected, angrily. "Dark, evil creatures. They do not respect the Old Ones." He held out a hand, and the Watcher placed a tentacle in it. "_Elen sila lumenn omentilmo._ A star shall shine on the hour of our meeting, Watcher in the Water."

"_WHAT DID THE ELF SAY?"_

"_He said… um… you very big." _The Watcher seemed to take that well and burbled happily. _"Watcher… the smell-bads are gone?"_

"_NO,"_ The Watcher said, and the Doctor's heart sank. _"NO. STILL INSIDE. WITH DWARVES."_

"_Dwarves dead."_

"_DEAD?"_

"_Yes."_

The Watcher let out a low whine, almost like a sob. _"BAD. RIP SMELL-BADS APART. SEND THEM OUT. KILL THEM. EAT THEM."_

The Doctor turned to Gimli. "The Watcher sends his condolences. He was fond of the dwarves." Gimli nodded, but was silent. "The goblins are still inside. They haven't left."

The tension was evident in the air, and Gimli's hands curled into fists. Boromir stepped forward slightly, addressing the group even as his eyes remained locked on the Watcher. "We must return to the Gap of Rohan. Passing through the mines is asking for death."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow at him. "Afraid of goblins, Boromir?"

Boromir's eyes snapped to the Time Lord's and narrowed. "Any sane man would be. I've fought these creatures, Doctor. They are not to be underestimated. All sharp teeth and ruthless ambition, and an appetite for flesh that can never be sated. But if you want to throw yourself to them, be my guest."

"We shall return to Rohan," Gandalf interrupted smoothly. "Gather your packs. We-"

"Where is Gimli?" Legolas interrupted. A small noise of footsteps caused them to turn, only to find Gimli stalking methodically into the mines. His axe was in his fists, and he looked ready to kill. "Gimli!" Legolas called, trotting after him.

Aragorn followed, the expression on his face an odd mixture of amusement and irritation. "You'll have plenty of chances to battle goblins, Gimli," he said. "Save your energy."

"Come, Doctor," Gandalf said, walking back towards the mines and their supplies. The Hobbits followed, Sam grumbling that they shouldn't have let Bill go if they were just going right back to the Gap…

"In a moment," the Doctor nodded, taking a few steps closer to the water. Rose followed close behind, still looking a little nervous. _"Thank you, Watcher,"_ The Doctor said. A single green tentacle rose into the air and came close to the Doctor's face. He touched it gingerly. _"We leave. Go to mountains."_ The Watcher's skin rippled, and the Doctor realized it was nodding. _"Don't stay. Smell-bads find you."_

The Watcher's tentacles rippled, coming to rest on the bank next to the two. Rose moved away from a particularly close one. "What's he doing?" she whispered to the Doctor, who shrugged.

_"I WILL LEAVE. NAME?"_

The Doctor hesitated, but settled on: _"I am Doctor."_

"What's he saying?" Rose asked. The Doctor ginned at her, and continued.

_"She is Bad Wolf."_

_"GOODBYE, FRIEND-DOCTOR. FIND WATER, AND CALL. I WILL FIND YOU."_

_"Goodbye, Watcher. Careful."_

_"YES. YOU CAREFUL TOO."_

And, before either of them could react, the Watcher's tentacles flexed and it pushed hard off the bank. The Doctor and Rose struggled to maintain their balance as the ground shook roughly, rocks tumbling off the craggy hill and landing in the water with loud splashes. Behind them, a loud crack slashed through the night as the dead tree near the mines snapped under the pressure and went crashing to the ground.

"Doctor!" Gandalf roared over the noise, and the two spun around to find Boromir struggling to push a few stray tree limbs away from the Hobbits. The Doctor grabbed Rose's hand and the two stumbled up the slope, dodging the larger and larger rocks as they pelted towards them. "What is going on?" the wizard asked, bracing himself with his staff.

"The mountain is collapsing!" Boromir roared. "What has your monster done?"

"He's not a monster!" The Doctor bellowed back. "He's a cephalopod!"

"Gandalf!" "Doctor!" _"Boromir!"_

The cries of the Hobbits snapped them all out of their argument, turning in horror to find the front of the mines beginning to crack under the pressure. There was no sign of Aragorn, Gimli, or Legolas. "Into the mines!" Gandalf cried, and Boromir looked at him, scandalized.

"We can't! The goblins-"

"It's the mines, or losing the three of them." The Doctor's voice insinuated that that wasn't much of a choice. Boromir looked close to bursting, but he grabbed two bags of supplies and started to sprint towards the doors. Gandalf followed, and The Doctor and Rose each grabbed as much as they could carry.

"Hurry!" Rose called to the Hobbits, who were struggling after them. The group reached the mines, ducking inside just as the sides of the doorway began to collapse. The Doctor yanked Pippin through the opening as boulders crushed the space he had just been. Within seconds, the doorway was blocked by rubble. There was a sudden silence, as the darkness around them seemed to press inwards. Then, a soft murmur was heard, and the top of the Gandalf's staff lit up.

The Fellowship was coated head to toe in dust, eyes wide and hands shaking with adrenaline. Footsteps were heard, and the three men ran up behind them. Aragorn opened his mouth to speak, closing it as the full weight of the situation weighed on them all.

They were trapped. Trapped in a labyrinth full of ruthless monsters that wanted to kill them.

There was no turning back.


End file.
